Under One Flag. Marsh Richard

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      He looked so handsome as he said this, and so full of scorn for the people who were incapable of seeing merit when it stared them in the face, that I felt a wave of sympathy sweep over me.

      "Not that it matters," he continued. "In this world nothing matters."

      It seemed rather a sweeping assertion. But I understood the bitterness which called it forth. So, with one fleeting glance out of the corner of my eye to let him know that there was one who comprehended, I suffered him to go on. And he went on.

      "However, where there's a will there's a way, and when a man's set on gaining his end it's hard to stop him-if he is a man! There's more roads lead to Rome than one. My play shall see the light in the same fashion that many a work of genius has done before. Who knows how and where Shakespeare's first play was produced? We'll act it at the 'Lion.'"

      "How splendid!" I exclaimed.

      "Mind you," he added with a modesty which did him credit, "I don't say that my play's a work of genius."

      "But I'm sure it is."

      He shook his head.

      "Frankly, it's not. In fact, it's a musical comedy in one act."

      "But a musical comedy may be a work of genius."

      He regarded me with what I felt almost amounted to an air of mystery.

      "Did you ever know a musical comedy that was?"

      "Yours may be an exception to the rule."

      He suddenly seemed to make up his mind to adopt an air of perfect frankness.

      "I know whereabouts my piece is as well as anyone living, and I give you my word it's not a work of genius. It's a kind of a go-as-you-please sort of thing; you'll see what I mean when you've read it."

      I did see; or, rather, it would be more correct to say that I did not see. I told him so when we met again.

      "I found it so difficult to make out what it's all about; it seems so vague. Nothing that anybody does seems to have any connection with anything that anybody else does."

      The way in which he received my criticism was charming; he did not show the slightest sign of being hurt.

      "You think that's a fault?" he said.

      "It does appear to be rather a disadvantage. You know when people go to the theatre they like to have some idea of what they're looking at."

      "I suppose they do. The fact is, that that's where the trouble was-I got stuck. When anyone had been doing anything I couldn't think what they ought to do next, so I started someone else doing something else instead. That's why I said it was a kind of a go-as-you-please. You observe I call it A Lover's Quarrel. Don't you think it's rather a good title?"

      "It's not a bad title. But I don't understand which the lovers are supposed to be, or where the quarrel comes in."

      "Perhaps not. You see the title was used in a sort of general sense." A bright idea seemed all at once to strike him. I was beginning to suspect that that was a kind of thing which did not strike him very often. "I tell you what-you've got the dramatic instinct-couldn't you give me a hint or two? What I want is a collaborator."

      I felt convinced that he wanted something.

      "Of course, I'm quite without experience. I think you're rash in crediting me with a dramatic instinct. I'm not sure that I even know what you mean. But I'll look through it again and see if I can be of any use."

      "Do! and, mind you, do with it as you like; turn it inside out; cut it to pieces; anything! I know you'll make a first-rate thing of it. And I tell you what, we'll announce ourselves as joint authors."

      In a weak moment-he certainly had very seductive eyes! – I yielded what amounted to a tacit consent. I read his play again, and came to the conclusion that while, as it stood, it was absolute rubbish, it yet contained that of which something might be made. I re-wrote the thing from beginning to end. What a time I had while I was in the throes of composition! and what a time everyone else had who came within a mile of me! I was scarcely on speaking terms with a single creature, and when anyone tried to speak to me I felt like biting them.

      When it was finished Mr Spencer was in ecstasies.

      "It's splendid! magnificent! there's nothing like it on the London stage!" I admit that I thought that that was possible. "There's no mistake about it, not the slightest shred of a scintilla of doubt, we've written a masterpiece!"

      The "we" was good, and as for the "masterpiece," it was becoming plainer and plainer that Mr Frank Spencer was one of those persons who are easily pleased; which, as that sort is exceedingly rare, was, after all, a fault on the right side.

      "Everybody," he went on, "will be enraptured with it; they won't be able to help it; they're absolutely bound to be."

      I wished I felt as certain of that as he did. Indeed I doubted so much if rapture would represent the state of mind of a certain gentleman that, in the daily letter which I always wrote to him, I never even hinted that I was engaged on a work of collaboration; though, for a time, that work filled my mind to the extinction of everything else.

      "Now," continued my co-author, "the thing is to cast it, and, mind you, this will want casting, this will; no round pegs in square holes. We don't want to have a fine play spoilt by anyone incapable; everyone will have to be as good as we can get."

      Although he spoke as if it would be a task of the most delicate kind-and, for my part, I did not see how, in the neighbourhood of West Marden, we were going to cast it at all; yet, in actual practice he seemed to me to make nothing of the matter. When he came with what he called the "proposed cast" I was really amazed.

      "Do you seriously mean, Mr Spencer, that these are the people whom you suggest should act in our play?"

      "Certainly. I've thought this thing out right to the bed-rock, and I assure you that we couldn't do better. Of course, you must remember that I shall do a good bit myself. I fancy you'll be surprised when you see me act. I haven't much voice, but it isn't voice, you know, that's wanted in this sort of thing; and though I can't say that I'm a regular dancer I can throw my feet about in a way that'll tickle 'em. And then there's you-you'll be our winning card; the star of the evening. You'll carry off the thing on your own shoulders, with me to help you. The others, they'll just fill in the picture, as it were."

      "I do hope, Mr Spencer, that you won't rely on me too much. I've told you, again and again, that I've never acted in my life, and have not the faintest notion if I can or can't."

      Putting his hands into his trouser pockets he tried to patronise me as if he were a wiseacre of two hundred instead of a mere child of twenty.

      "My dear Miss Wilson, I know an actress when I see one."

      "You have an odd way of expressing yourself. I hope that you don't mean that when you see me you see an actress; because I assure you that I trust that you do nothing of the kind."

      I wondered what George would think and say if he heard that hare-brained young simpleton accusing me of looking like an actress.

      "You give my words a wrong construction. I only meant to express my profound conviction that in your hands everything will be perfectly safe."

      "I СКАЧАТЬ