young intellectuals: he writes plays himself. Hes useful because he
pitches into the older intellectuals who are standing in his way. But
you may take it from me that none of these chaps really matter.
Flawner Bannal's your man. Bannal really represents the British
playgoer. When he likes a thing, you may take your oath there are a
hundred thousand people in London thatll like it if they can only be
got to know about it. Besides, Bannal's knowledge of the theatre is
an inside knowledge. We know him; and he knows us. He knows the
ropes: he knows his way about: he knows what hes talking about.

THE COUNT. [with a little sigh] Age and experience, I suppose?

SAVOYARD. Age! I should put him at twenty at the very outside,
myself. It's not an old man's job after all, is it? Bannal may not
ride the literary high horse like Trotter and the rest; but I'd take
his opinion before any other in London. Hes the man in the street;
and thats what you want.

THE COUNT. I am almost sorry you didnt give the gentleman his full
terms. I should not have grudged the fifty guineas for a sound
opinion. He may feel shabbily treated.

SAVOYARD. Well, let him. It was a bit of side, his asking fifty.
After all, what is he? Only a pressman. Jolly good business for him
to earn ten guineas: hes done the same job often enough for half a
quid, I expect.

_Fanny O'Dowda comes precipitately through the curtains, excited and
nervous. A girl of nineteen in a dress synchronous with her
father's._