HIS FIRST AND LAST PLAY
Ralph Essendean, aged about fifty, is discovered at a writing-desk. He studies a newspaper, from which he reads aloud, thoughtfully:—"So that a successful play may bring its author anything from five to twenty thousand pounds." He lays down the paper, mutters, "H'm!" and taking up a pencil bites it meditatively. Enter Mrs. Essendean.
Mrs. Essendean (crossing to Ralph, and placing her hand on his shoulder, asks affectionately). Well, dear, and how is the play getting on?
Ralph (irritably). You talk of the play, Matilda, as though it were possible to write a four-act drama in ten minutes. The play is not getting on at all well, for the simple reason that I am only just thinking out the idea.
Mrs. Essendean (seating herself by the table). How nice, dear! And what is the idea?
Ralph (grimly). That is just what I am wondering about. Now if you will kindly retire to the kitchen and make an omelette, or discharge the cook, I shall be obliged.
[Leans over his desk.
Mrs. E. But, dear, I am sure the cook is a most excellent servant, and——