He left us out. We've had cruel hard times, but I'm glad he left
us out.
MAN OF THE WORLD. Then followed some years of experiment in the scientific
manufacture and blending of drama. As I speak, no less than twenty-three
factories dot the grassy meads of America. The work is done by clerks
employed at moderate salaries for eight hours a day. For the cerebration of
whatever new ideas may be needed, several French literary men are kept
in chains in the backyard, being fed exclusively on absinthe and caviare
sandwiches during their periods of creative activity. No less than forty
different brands of drama are turned out, each with its description stamped
clearly on the can. While a complete equipment for anyone can be travelled
by the operator in his valise, still leaving room for toothbrush and
slumber-suit.
CLOWN. Do the public like the stuff?
MAN OF THE WORLD. They've got to like it. They get none else.
CLOWN. Can't you give us another chance? I'll lay we could make good.
MAN OF THE WORLD. Sorry, sonny, but I don't see how you'd fit in.
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