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wants, why don't you tell me what to produce?

Why don't you tell me what sort of play the play-goers want to see?" "I would," I said, "But you wouldn't believe it."

"You're hedging," he said, "You don't know, and you're trying to cover up by pretending to know more than you're willing to say. You haven't any more idea than I have this minute what sort of plays generally succeed."

"I have," I said, "there is one sure fire success; one theme that works and has always worked, whether it is competing with boy meets girl, mysteries, historical tragedies, etc., no play on the theme has ever completely failed if it had nay merit at all, and a lot of poor ones have been big hits."

"You're stalling again," said Mr. Pemberton, "What sort of plays are they?"

"Metaphysical," I said, fouling slightly with a big word and waiting quietly for the effect. "Metaphysical," said Mr. Pemberton, "You mean metaphysical?"

I paused a moment and since Mr. Pemberton said nothing, went right on spouting such titles as "The Green Pastures," "The Star Wagon," "Father Malachy's Miracle!, etc." "Some of these," I added, "reached the public over the heads of the critics." But Mr. Pemberton had departed to ask probably, in every theatre in town, "Is there a metaphysician in the house?"

People are beginning to realize the power of