VI

The Creams returned to Miss Squibb's on the following evening, and

Cream came to see Hinde and John soon after they arrived. Dolly, he

said, was too tired after her journey to do more than send a friendly

greeting to them.

"I wanted to have a talk to you about that sketch," he said to John.

"It's very good, of course, quite classy, in fact, but it wants

tightening up. Snap! That's what it wants. And a little bit of

vulgarity. Oh, not too much. Of course not. But it doesn't do to

overlook vulgarity, Mac. We've all got a bit of it in us, and

pers'nally, I see no harm in it, _pro_-vided ... _pro-vided_,

mind you ... that it's comic. That's the only excuse for vulgarity ...

that it's comic. Now, the first thing is the title!"

Mr. Cream took the MS. of John's sketch from his pocket and spread

it on the table. "This won't do at all," he said, pointing to the

title-page of the play. "_Love's Tribute!_ My dear old Mac, what the

hell's the good of a title like that? Where's the snap in it? Where's

the attraction, the allurement? Nowhere. A title like that wouldn't

draw twopence into a theatre. _Love's Tribute!_ I ask you!..." His

feelings made him inarticulate and he gazed round the room in a

helpless manner.

"Well, what would you call it?" John demanded.

"Something snappy. I often say a title's half the play. Now, take a

piece like _The Girl Who Lost Her Character_ or _The Man With

Two Wives_ ... there's a bit of snap about that. Titles like those

simply haul 'em into the theatre. _Snap! Go! Ginger!_ Something

that sounds 'ot, but isn't ... that's the stuff to give the British

public. You make 'em think they're going to see something ... well,

_you_ know ... and they'll stand four deep in the snow waiting to

get into the theatre. If you were to put the Book of Genesis on the

stage and call it _The Girl Who Took The Wrong Turning_, people

'ud think they'd seen something they oughtn't to ... and they'd tell

all their friends. Now, how about _The Guilty Woman_ for your

sketch, Mac?"

John looked at him in astonishment. "But the woman in it isn't guilty

of anything," he protested.

"That doesn't matter. The title needn't have anything to do with it.

Very few titles have anything to do with the piece. So long as they're

snappy, that's all you need think about. Pers'nally, I like _The

Guilty Woman_ myself; but Dolly's keen on _The Sinful Woman_.

And that just reminds me, Mac! Here's a tip for you. Always have

_Woman_ in your title if you can. _A Sinful Woman_'ll draw

better than _A Sinful Man_. People seem to expect women to be more

sinful than men when they are sinful ... or p'raps they're more used to

men being sinful than women. I dunno. But it's a fact ... _Woman_

in the title is a bigger draw than _Man_. And you got to think of

these little things. If you want to make a fortune out of a piece, take

my advice and think of a snappy adjective to put in front of

_Woman_ or _Girl!_ Really, you know, play-writing's very

simple, if you only remember a few tips like that!..."

"But my play isn't about sin at all," John protested.

"Well, what's the good of it then?" Cream demanded. "All plays are

about sin of some sort, aren't they? If people aren't breaking a rule

or a commandment, there's no plot, and if there's no plot, there's no

play. Of course, Bernard Shaw and all these chaps, they don't believe

in plots or climaxes or anything, and they turn out pieces that sound

as if they'd wrote the first half in their Oxford days and the second

half when they were blind drunk. You've got to have a plot, Mac, and if

you've got to have a plot, you've got to have sin. What 'ud Hamlet be

without the sin in it? Nothing! Why, there wasn't any drama in the

world 'til Adam and Eve fell! You take it from me, Mac, there'll be no

drama in heaven. Why? Because there'll be no sin there. But there'll be

a hell of a lot in hell! Now, I like _The Guilty Woman_. It's not

quite so bare-faced as _The Sinful Woman_, but as Dolly likes it

better ... she's more intense than I am ... we'll have to have it, I

expect!"

"I don't like either of those titles," John said, gulping as he spoke,

for he felt that there was a difference of view between Cream and him

that could not be overcome.

"Well, think of a better one then," Cream good-naturedly answered.

"There's another thing. As I said, the piece wants overhauling, but you

can leave that to me. When I've had a good go at it!..."

"But!..."

"Now, look here, Mac," Cream firmly proceeded, "you be guided by me.

You're a youngster at the game, and I'm an old hand. I never met a

young author yet that didn't imagine his play had come straight from

the mind of God and mustn't have a word altered. The tip-top chaps

don't think like that. They're always altering and changing their plays

during rehearsal ... and sometimes after they've been produced, too.

Look at Pinero! He's altered the whole end of a play before now. He had

a most unhappy end to _The Profligate_ ... the hero committed

suicide in the last act ... but the public wouldn't have it. They said

they wanted a happy end, and Pinero had the good sense to give it to

them. In my opinion the public was right. The happy end was the right

end for that piece!..."

"But artistically!..." John pleaded.

"Artistically!" Cream exclaimed in mocking tones to Hinde. "I ask you!

Artistically! What's Art? Pleasing people. That's what Art is!"

"Oh, no," John protested. "Pleasing yourself, perhaps!..."

"And aren't you most pleased when you feel that people are pleased with

you, I ask you! What do you publish books for if you only want to

please yourself? Why don't you keep your great thoughts to yourself if

you don't want to please anybody else? Yah-r-r, this Art talk makes me

feel sick. You'd rather sell two thousand copies of a book than two

hundred, wouldn't you? Of course, you would. I've heard these highbrow

chaps talking about the Mob and the Tasteful Few. I acted in a play

once by a fellow who was always bleating about the Tasteful Few ... and

you should have heard the way he went on when his play only drew the

Tasteful Few to see it. If his piece had had a chance of a long run, do

you think he'd have stopped it at the end of a month because he

objected to long runs as demoralizing to Art? Not likely, my lad!...

Now, this piece of yours, Mac, has too much talk in it and not enough

incident, see! You'll have to cut some of it. The talk's good, but in

plays the talk mustn't take the audience off the point, no matter how

good it is. See! You don't want long speeches: you want short ones. The

talk ought to be like a couple of chaps sparring ... only not too much

fancy work. I've seen a lot of boxing in my time. There's boxers that

goes in for what's called pretty work ... nice, neat boxing ... but

the spectators soon begin to yawn over it. What people like to see

is one chap getting a smack on the jaw and the other chap getting a

black eye. And it's the same with everything. Ever seen Cinquevalli

balancing a billiard ball on top of another one? Took him years to learn

that trick, but he'll tell you himself ... he lives round the corner from

here ... that his audiences take more interest in some flashy-looking

thing that's dead easy to do. When he throws a cannon-ball up into the

air and catches it on the back of his neck ... they think that's

wonderful ... but it isn't half so wonderful as balancing one billiard

ball on top of another one. See? So it's no good being subtle before

simple people. They don't understand you, and they just get up and walk

out or give you the bird!..."

"I'm going to tell you something," he continued, as if he had not said

a word before. "I've noticed human nature a good deal, and I think I

know something about it. There was a sketch we did once, called _The

Twiddley Bits_. It was written by the same chap that did _The Girl

Who Gets Left_ ... he had a knack, that chap ... only he took to

drink and died. There was a joke in _The Twiddley Bits_ that went

down everywhere. Here it is. I played the part of a comic footman, and

I had to say to the villain, 'What are you looking at, guv'nor?' and he

replied, 'I'm wondering what on earth that is!' and then he pointed to

my face. That got a laugh to start with. Then I had to say, 'It's my

face. What did you think it was? A sardine tin?' That got a roar.

Brought the house down, that did. We played that piece all over the

world, Mac, and that joke never failed once. Not once. We played it in

England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, America, New Zealand, South Africa

and Australia, and it never missed once. Fetched 'em every time. Human

nature's about the same everywhere, once you get to understand it, Mac,

and if you like you can put that joke in your play. It'll help it out a

bit in the middle!..."