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_Quid pro quo._ To the advertiser shall advertis.e.m.e.nt be given.
Newspaper men are the nicest chaps in the world. Feed them gratis with bright and amusin' "copy," as you term it, and they'll love and protect you for ever.
PHILIP.
Not for ever, Robbie. Whom the press loves die young.
ROOPE.
It's fickle, you mean--some day it'll turn and rend you? Perhaps.
Still, if you make hay while the sun s.h.i.+nes----
PHILIP.
The sun! You don't call _that_ the sun! [_Disdainfully._] P'ss.h.!.+
ROOPE.
[_Leaving him._] Oh, I've no patience with you! [_Spluttering._] Upon my word, your hatred of publicity is--is--is--is morbid. It's worse than morbid--it's Victorian. [_Sitting in the chair by the small table._] There! I can't say anything severer.
PHILIP.
[_Advancing._] Yes, but wait a moment, Robbie. Who says I have a hatred of publicity? _I_ haven't said anything so absurd. Don't I write for the public?
ROOPE.
Exactly!
PHILIP.
[_Standing near_ ROOPE.] I have no dislike for publicity--for fame. By George, sir, I covet it, if I can win it honestly and decently!
ROOPE.
[_Shrugging his shoulders._] Ah----!
PHILIP.
And I humble myself before the men and women of my craft--and they are many--who succeed in winning it in that fas.h.i.+on, or who are content to remain obscure. But for the rest--the hustlers of the pen, the seekers after mere blatant applause, the pickers-up of cheap popularity--I've a profound contempt for them and their methods.
ROOPE.
You can't deny the ability of some of 'em.
PHILIP.
Deny it! Of course I don't deny it. But no amount of ability, of genius if you will, absolves the follower of any art from the obligation of conducting himself as a modest gentleman----
ROOPE.
Ah, there's where you're so hopelessly Victorian and out o' date!
PHILIP.
Well, that's my creed; and, whether I've talent or not, I'd rather snuff out, when my time comes, neglected and a pauper than go back on it. [_Walking away and pacing the room._] Oh, but I'm not discouraged, my dear Robbie--not a sc.r.a.p! I'm not discouraged, though you do regard me as a dismal failure.
ROOPE.
[_Deprecatingly._] No, no!
PHILIP.
I shall collar the great public yet. You mark me, I shall collar 'em yet, and without stooping to the tricks and devices you advocate!
[_Returning to_ ROOPE.] Robbie----
ROOPE.
[_Rising._] Hey?
PHILIP.
[_Laying his hands on_ ROOPE_'s shoulders._] If my next book--my autumn book--isn't a mighty go, I--I'll eat my hat.
ROOPE.
[_Sadly._] Dear excellent friend, perhaps you'll be obliged to, for nourishment.
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha! [_Taking_ ROOPE_'s arm._] Oddly enough--oddly enough, the story deals with the very subject we've been discussing.
ROOPE.
[_Without enthusiasm._] Indeed?
PHILIP.
Yes. You hit on the t.i.tle a few minutes ago.
ROOPE.
Really?
PHILIP.
When you were talking of Ottoline and her people. [_Dropping his voice._] "The Big Drum."
ROOPE.
[_Thoughtfully._] C-c-capital!
