Thus the terms of partnership were laid down, and together they set about to write such a play as would stagger the world.
The plot was everything, they decided, and so to the making of the plot were dedicated countless hours and an incredible quantity of paper.
As the work proceeded Bulmore’s spirits grew apace.
“We’ve got ’em!” he would shout. “There’s a fortune here, old man.” And so great would be his enthusiasm that it was an all-too frequent occurrence for him to abandon work in the early part of the evening and drink copious draughts to their inevitable success.
These little excesses were the cause of no small concern to Eliphalet Cardomay. Bulmore would often spend his entire weekly allowance in a night at the bar; thus, when the day for settling their accounts arrived, it would be necessary for Eliphalet to draw on his dwindling principal to make good the deficit.
Once the plot was finally determined, the actual writing of the play began. In this Eliphalet did most of the work. Bulmore’s temperament was such that he could not sit still, and must needs pace up and down, gesticulating and pouring forth a ceaseless stream of red-hot ideas.
In itself this method proved a somewhat disturbing factor, and tended to retard the progression of the work; but Eliphalet strove manfully, and some eleven months from the day of their first meeting had the exquisite pleasure of subscribing the word “Curtain” on the final page.
Then he and his partner gripped hands with a pride too full for words.
“Read it aloud, Eliphalet, old man,” said Bulmore. “Let’s have it! Let it go! Here, old man—wait a minute!” He rushed from the room, returning a moment later with the breathless landlady, Mrs. Wattle, and her anæmic niece, Annie. These he literally flung (no other word is possible) one at each end of the plush settee. “Don’t make a sound,” he warned them, with a threatening gesture. “You are going to hear the finest play that ever was written—a masterpiece! On you go, Eliphalet, with all your voice, and all you’ve got. Give ’em a bit of the old.”
So Eliphalet filled his lungs, and read. Both he and his audience were in tears when he intoned the final heart-rending passages.