is one of our most successful and celebrated playwrights. He is the author of The Stafford Will Case which has been running in New York for months. I think he ought to be writing for L.L.B. We need men like him.
Humph! Griesheimer ejaculated gruffly. Writing for the theatre and writing for the movies is two different propositions, to—tally different. Most playwrights fall down when they come out here. . . . He turned to Ambrose. Well, what you got in mind to write? he demanded.
I don't want to write anything, responded Ambrose, whose agony was piteous.
The great man regarded him with astonishment.
Then what do you want here? he insisted.
Miss Six brought me. She said . . .
I know what she said, Griesheimer interrupted. What do you say?
I don't think I can write stories for the films. I don't know anything about moving pictures. It seemed to Ambrose that his voice sounded unnecessarily shrill.
Have a cigar, Mr. Deacon, Griesheimer invited him abruptly, as he pushed forward an embossed metal box.
Ambrose was not accustomed to smoking cigars—
