Not George Washington | Page 7

your play I am
amazed to find the touch of the professional and experienced
playwright. Yes, my dear, you have proved that you happen to possess
the quality--one that is most difficult to acquire--of surrounding a
situation which is improbable enough to be convincing with that
absurdly mechanical conversation which the theatre-going public
demands. As your mother, I am disappointed. I had hoped for
originality. As your literary well-wisher, I stifle my maternal feelings
and congratulate you unreservedly."
I thanked my mother effusively. I think I cried a little.
She said affectionately that the hour had been one of great interest to
her, and she added that she would be glad to be consulted with regard
to the steps I contemplated taking in my literary future.
She then resumed her book.
I went to my room and re-read the last letter I had had from James.
_The Barrel Club, Covent Garden, London._
MY DARLING MARGIE,--I am writing this line simply and solely for
the selfish pleasure I gain from the act of writing to you. I know
everything will come right some time or other, but at present I am
suffering from a bad attack of the blues. I am like a general who has
planned out a brilliant attack, and realises that he must fail for want of
sufficient troops to carry a position, on the taking of which the whole
success of the assault depends. Briefly, my position is like this. My
name is pretty well known in a small sort of way among editors and the
like as that of a man who can turn out fairly good stuff. Besides this, I
have many influential friends. You see where this brings me? I am in
the middle of my attacking movement, and I have not been beaten back;
but the key to the enemy's position is still uncaptured. You know what
this key is from my other letters. It's the stage. Ah, Margie, one acting
play! Only one! It would mean everything. Apart from the actual
triumph and the direct profits, it would bring so much with it. The
enemy's flank would be turned, and the rest of the battle would become

a mere rout. I should have an accepted position in the literary world
which would convert all the other avenues to wealth on which I have
my eye instantly into royal roads. Obstacles would vanish. The fact that
I was a successful playwright would make the acceptance of the sort of
work I am doing now inevitable, and I should get paid ten times as well
for it. And it would mean--well, you know what it would mean, don't
you? Darling Margie, tell me again that I have your love, that the
waiting is not too hard, that you believe in me. Dearest, it will come
right in the end. Nothing can prevent that. Love and the will of a man
have always beaten Time and Fate. Write to me, dear.
_Ever your devoted James._
How utterly free from thought of self! His magnificent loyalty forgot
the dreadful tension of his own great battle, and pictured only the
tedium of waiting which it was my part to endure.
I finished my letter to James very late that night. It was a very long and
explanatory letter, and it enclosed my play.
The main point I aimed at was not to damp his spirits. He would, I
knew well, see that the play was suitable for staging. He would, in short,
see that I, an inexperienced girl, had done what he, a trained
professional writer, had failed to do. Lest, therefore, his pique should
kill admiration and pleasure when he received my work, I wrote as one
begging a favour. "Here," I said, "we have the means to achieve all we
want. Do not--oh, do not--criticise. I have written down the words. But
the conception is yours. The play was inspired by you. But for you I
should never have begun it. Take my play, James; take it as your own.
For yours it is. Put your name to it, and produce it, if you love me,
under your own signature. If this hurts your pride, I will word my
request differently. You alone are able to manage the business side of
the production. You know the right men to go to. To approach them on
behalf of a stranger's work is far less likely to lead to success. I have
assumed, you will see, that the play is certain to be produced. But that
will only be so if you adopt it as your own. Claim the authorship, and
all will be well."

Much more I wrote to James in the same strain; and my reward came
next day in the shape of a telegram: "Accept thankfully.--Cloyster."