been left quite alone to follow out his own modest desires. As a consequence he had never learned to say no with any authority. He had never even learned the infinitely simpler process, almost automatic with those New Yorkers who lead largely social lives, of saying yes to save time and subsequently forgetting all about the matter.
Reflecting now, it seemed to him that it would have been comparatively simple to leave the train at Lamy, while the star and her director slept, the morning after his disturbing interview on the plains of Kansas. He groaned as he realized only too vividly that such a procedure would be impossible to him. He had given his promise, a promise exacted by threats, to be sure, that he would go to Hollywood. It was not that he harboured faith in his ability to improve the quality of the output of America's fourth largest industry. It was not even that he believed himself capable of devising a scenario, however humble, for a screen drama. It was that he had been frightened, really frightened, into accepting a responsibility which in its future aspects wore a face that was no less grave because it was somewhat vague in outline.
It had been actually Herbert Ringrose who had secured his unwilling consent, who had set the seal
