_Publisher (nastily)._ I tell you that it's no earthly use your asking
about profits, because there are none.
_Author (amazed)._ No profits! And you really mean to tell me that
the public has not thought fit to purchase my shilling work of
genius--_The Maiming of Mendoza?_ By our agreement only a paltry six
thousand copies of the work had to be bought before my royalty of a
penny a volume began.
_Publisher._ I am quite aware of it. The sale of the six thousand
copies would just about have repaid us for cost of production. As
a matter of fact, only three thousand have been sold. We've lost
heavily, and very much regret we were ever induced to accept the work.
_Author._ And you really ask me to believe that after such a sale
as that a loss on your part is possible? Why, if you take price of
printing at----
[_Goes elaborately into cost of production._
_Publisher._ Yes, but you see the price of everything has gone up in
our trade. Binding is now ten per cent. dearer, composing is----
[_Also goes into precise and prolonged details._
_Author (turning desperate at last)._ Oh, let us end this chatter! You
really say that no cheque whatever is due to me for all my labours?
_Publisher._ Not a single penny. It's the other way about.
_Author (leaving)._ And you call this "the beneficial system of
royalties," do you? Good day! And if I don't set the Society of
Authors at you before I am a day older, then my name's not BULWER
MAKEPEACE DEFOE SMITH!
[_Exit tempestuously._