Читать книгу Set Down in Malice: A Book of Reminiscences онлайн

65 страница из 74

When the interview was over he invited me to his father’s house for the evening meal. I went. I went out of curiosity. He did not amuse me, but most certainly he did interest me.

When we had finished our meal he took me to his study. Near the window was a typewriter; in the typewriter was a sheet of paper half covered with script. There were very few erasures.

“I always compose straight on to the machine,” said Houghton.

“Ah yes,” said I, “and so did J.M. Synge. It has always seemed to me remarkable that Synge should do that; in your own case, of course, it is not quite so remarkable.”

“It is a comedy for Cyril Maude” (I think he said Cyril Maude). “He wired to me the other day to go up to London to see him. Yes; he wanted a comedy, and he wanted me to write it. That was about a fortnight ago. Well, the thing’s nearly finished; in another week it will be on its way to London. Rather quick work, don’t you think?”

“Quite. But all that you have told me I know already, and, really, you must know that I know. You see, Brighouse comes to the Swan Club day by day, drinks his ssss1 beer—you know, the conventionally British pint he will have in a pewter mug——”