[Exit tempestuously.
As They may be To-morrow.
Utterly Unknown Novelist. Then I am afraid that my last three-volumed work of fiction, in spite of the cordial way in which it was reviewed by my brother-in-law in the Weekly Dotard, my maternal uncle in the Literary Spy, and a few other relatives on the daily press, has not upon the whole been a decided success?
Publisher. Well, it's useless to conceal the fact, that from a mere base material point of view, the publication of The Boiling of Benjamin has not quite answered our expectations. In fact, we have lost a couple of thousand pounds over it. But (more cheerfully) what of that? It is a pleasure to lose money over introducing good work to the public; a positive privilege to be sacrificed on such an altar as The Boiling of Benjamin. So say no more on that head!
U. U. Novelist (enthusiastically). Good and generous man! But I will say more! You recollect that the terms you made with me were a thousand pounds down, and a hundred pounds a month for life or until the copyright expired?
Publisher (groaning slightly). Oh, yes! I remember it very well.
U. U. Novelist. And that I have already received cheques for one thousand and five hundred pounds, without your mentioning a word about the loss you have been nobly and silently enduring?
Publisher. An agreement's an agreement, and you are only experiencing one result of the beneficial system of royalties.
U. U. Novelist. Quite so! But if there is to be division of profits, there should be division of losses as well. So (taking out chequebook, and hurriedly writing in it) there! Not a word of thanks! It's merely repaying you the fifteen hundred I've received, with another thousand to compensate you for the loss on production.
Publisher (melted into tears). Oh, thanks, thanks! You have averted ruin from my starving little ones! And if you should wish to bring out any other work of ——. He is gone, to escape my gratitude! (Takes up cheque.) By far the best thing he ever wrote!