Peggy. Why, Will, I'm sorry to disappoint you. It's very interesting—but it isn't a practical play. It would never go on Broadway.
Will (in dismay). Not go on Broadway!
Peggy. No, dear. It's too talky—too much sociology. You can't get a Broadway audience to listen to long arguments.
Will. Isn't it what they all need? Those wage-slaves up in the galleries——
Peggy. I know, dear—but they've no idea they are wage-slaves, and they won't pay their money to hear you call them names. And down in the three-dollar seats are people who've made their pile, and don't want any questions asked about the way they made it. Cut out the sociology, Will!
Will. But can't one discuss modern problems in a modern play?
Peggy. Yes, dear, but you've got to go at it differently. You've got to get what the crowd calls the punch. Look at their faces, Will—see how tired they are! You've got to find something that comes home to them! Not arguments, not abstractions—but a clash of human wills! Something fundamental, that every man in the crowd can understand! Your idea's a good one, I think—having a rich boy go out to try his luck in the under-world. There's a chance in it for adventure, for fun, for suspense. You ought to know about that, since you did it yourself. But you've got to start him off differently——(The whistle blows.)
Will. Oh, hell!
Peggy. Wait, dear. (Exit Left, calls down shaft.) Lower, please. No—I said lower. There—not too low! (Enters with can.) All right! Now, our troubles are over. Listen, dear. If you really want to write, you've got to think about your audience, and what they like. Just see, to begin with, you've left out the most important thing in any play—whether it's a high-brow tragedy or Third Avenue melodrama.
Will. What's that?