Showman (1937)

SHOWMAN "The usual five, seven and a half and ten," I said. "I suppose he's made his own deal with Besant?" "Besant?" said I. "Who's Besant?" "Walter Besant," replied the fellow, "the man who wrote the novel he took it from." "Novel?" said I, "I didn't hear anything about a novel." "Well," said the fellow, "you will." The next day he sent me a copy of a book by Walter Besant called "Ready Money Mortoboy," which was just "Roaring Dick and Company" between covers. The play was a failure anyway, so there wasn't any kick from the other side of the water, but Barrymore never did succeed in explaining to anybody's satisfaction how he managed to hit not only the same plot but all the details too, down to the size of the heroine's feet. Nobody can play roulette forever without hitting a winning number now and again. I saw the Boston opening of A. M. Palmer's production of "Trilby," Du Maurier's famous novel, took the midnight train and walked into Palmer's office the next day with a proposition: "You've got a freak attraction there," I said. "Something that will clean up quick or not at all. I want the road rights, leaving the six key cities for yourself. How much?" I knew the old gentleman was pretty near bankruptcy and ready money would go a long way with him. He coughed, looked down, and pulled his whiskers. 155