_The sitting-room of a little flat in Shaftesbury Avenue. At back
is a door leading to the dining-room--it is open, and the
dinner-table is in full view of the audience. To the extreme
right is another door, leading to the hall._
_The place is pleasantly and prettily, though quite
inexpensively, furnished. To the left, at angles with the
distempered wall, is a baby-grand piano; the fireplace, in which
a fire is burning merrily, is on the same side, full centre. To
the right of the door leading to the dining-room is a small
side-table, on which there is a tray with decanter and glasses;
in front of this, a card-table, open, with two packs of cards on
it, and chairs on each side. Another table, a round one, is in
the centre of the room--to right and to left of it are
comfortable armchairs. Against the right wall is a long sofa;
above it hang a few good, water-colours and engravings; on the
piano and the table there are flowers. A general appearance of
refinement and comfort pervades the room; no luxury, but evidence
everywhere of good taste, and the countless feminine touches that
make a room homelike and pleasant._
_When the curtain rises,_ HECTOR ALLEN, _a youngish man of
forty, with an attractive intellectual face, is seen standing by
the dining-table in the inner room, draining his liqueur-glass,
with_ WALTER COZENS _to the right of him, lighting a cigarette._
WALTER _is a few years younger than his friend, moderately
good-looking, with fine, curly brown hair and a splendid silky
moustache. His morning-clothes are conspicuously well-cut--he is
evidently something of a dandy;_ HECTOR _wears a rather shabby
dress-suit, his boots are awkward, and his tie ready-made._
BETTY, _a handsome woman of thirty, wearing a very pretty
tea-gown, is talking to the maid at the back of the dining-room._
HECTOR _puts down his glass and comes into the sitting-room,
followed by_ WALTER. HECTOR _is puffing at a short, stumpy little
black cigar._
HECTOR [_Talking as he comes through, continuing the conversation--he
walks to the fireplace and stands with his back to it._] I tell you, if
I'd known what it meant, I'd never have taken the job! Sounded so fine, to
be reader of plays for the Duke's Theatre--adviser to the great Mr.
Honeyswill! And then--when the old man said I was to go to all the first
nights--why, I just chortled! "It's the first nights that show you the
grip of the thing--that teach you most"--he said. Teach you! As though
there were anything to learn! Oh my stars! I tell you, it's a dog's life!
WALTER. [_Sitting to left of the round table._] I'd change places with
you, sonny.
HECTOR. You would, eh? That's what they all say! Four new plays this week,
my lad--one yesterday, one to-day--another to-morrow, and the night after!
All day long I'm _reading_ plays--and I spend my nights seeing 'em! D'you
know I read about two thousand a year? Divide two thousand by three
hundred and sixty five. A dog's life--that's what it is!