P. But madam, if you will allow me, we consider our readers competent.
Susan. And I think (talks fast and emphatically but distinctly) an author knows something about a book too, after toiling at it for months. Humph, do you suppose I’ve been living so long for nothing and writing all my life, too? Your plan, indeed! My book “Winds that Sough in the Night” deals with Theosophy. You would give that to some man who thinks Theosophy all a humbug. He’d laugh at it and I’d be out my postage. If my book was an exposé of Theosophy, you would give it to some man who believed in the thing and he’d turn it down for spite. Author out again—say, when’ll Greathead be in?
P. I should say inside half an hour.
Susan. Which had I better see, Mr. Greathead or Mr. Wright?
P. (Resignedly.) Either will do.
Susan. Then I’ll see Greathead first.
P. Have you a letter of introduction, madam?
Susan. Don’t need any. I introduce myself. If Greathead doesn’t come around to my views I’ll see Wright. If he is not convinced, I’ll get the two together and tell ’em what they are missing if they reject my novel. Why, it is equal to Uncle Tom’s Cabin and it is longer than “Robert El Smere.”
P. (Getting impatient.) Miss Brown, excuse me, I am very busy, will you leave a card?