“It wasn’t my criticism, you know,” he reminded her patiently. “I don’t write the whole paper, though most of my acquaintances seem to think that I do. Any and all of it to which they take exception, at least.”
“Of course, I know you didn’t write it, or it wouldn’t have been so stupid. I could stand anything except the charge that I’ve lost my naturalness and become conventional.”
“You’re like the man who could resist anything except temptation, my dear: you can stand anything except criticism,” returned Banneker with a smile so friendly that there was no sting in the words. “You’ve never had enough of that. You’re the spoiled pet of the critics.”
“Not of this new one of yours. He’s worse than Gurney. Who is he and where does he come from?”
“An inconsiderable hamlet known as Chicago. Name, Allan Haslett. Dramatic criticism out there is still so unsophisticated as to be intelligent as well as honest—at its best.”
“Which it isn’t here,” commented the special pet of the theatrical reviewers.
“Well, I thought a good new man would be better than the good old ones. Less hampered by personal considerations. So I sent and got this one.”
“But he isn’t good. He’s a horrid beast. We’ve been specially nice to him, on your account mostly—Ban, if you grin that way I shall hate you! I had Bezdek invite him to one of the rehearsal suppers and he wouldn’t come. Sent word that theatrical suppers affected his eyesight when he came to see the play.”
Banneker chuckled. “Just why I got him. He doesn’t let the personal element prejudice him.”
“He is prejudiced. And most unfair. Ban,” said Betty in her most seductive tones, “do call him down. Make him write something decent about us. Bez is fearfully upset.”