Sud [seriously]. Oh, yes—the more fuss we make about her the better.
Mrs. Pencil. Oh! Clem! You aren't glad to see me! Oh! that I have lived for this!!!
[She tears around the stage waving her hands in grief—making faces of agony. Sud rises in astonishment and follows her left.]
Sud [shrieks in anger]. Idiot! Can't you talk! Do you think I write lines to be cut? How dare you cut my lines!!!
Mrs. Pencil. I've done just what it says. [She takes her part from table, reads from it and shows it to him.] "Mrs. Pencil shows extreme despair and passionately——"
Sud. That's not the play! That's the moving picture version!!! Come here.
[He fumbles with his papers. Takes blue pencil to her part, changes his mind and uses red pencil—and puts them back of different ears.]
Wouldby. Oh! Have you the same play ready for the movies?
Sud. I write in columns—alongside of each other. Dramatic version, moving picture, novelization—for magazines—newspapers and books.
Wouldby. All at once!