"What did you think of the Creams?" the journalist asked when they had greeted each other and had ended their congratulations on being Ulstermen.
"He's very good," John began....
"And she's rotten?" Hinde interrupted.
"Well!..."
"Oh, my dear fellow, you needn't be afraid of telling me what you think. There's only one person in the world who doesn't realise that Mrs. Cream can't act and never will be able to act ... and that's poor old Cream himself. He's as good a comedian as there is in the world—that little man: the essence of Cockney wit; and he does not know how good he is. He thinks that she is much better than he can ever hope to be, and she thinks so, too; but if it were not for him, MacDermott, she wouldn't get thirty shillings a week in a penny gaff!"
"They've asked me to write a play for them," John said.
"Are you going to do it?"
"I don't know. That play to-night was a very common sort of a piece. It's not the style of play I want to do!..."
"What style of play do you want to do?" Hinde asked.
"Good plays. Plays like Shakespeare wrote."