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'Silence, impudent-face! You are not talking to Radsikoff. I am a Poet, and I demand my rights. Kloot was silent from sheer surprise. Goldwater was similarly impressed. 'What rights? he observed more mildly. 'You've had your twenty dollars. And that was too much. 'Too much! Twenty dollars for the masterpiece of the twentieth century!
If only to oust this 'Ophelia, he must be at the theatre instanter. 'Has Goldwater given you a contract? 'I am a poet, not a lawyer, said Pinchas proudly. 'Parchments are for Philistines; honest men build on the word. 'After all, it comes to the same thing with Goldwater, said Radsikoff drily.
Kloot had been glad that the Journalist had left before the episode; but when he saw the account he wished the scribe had stayed. 'He won't play Hamlet with that pair of shiners, Pinchas prophesied early the next morning to the supping café. Radsikoff beamed and refilled Pinchas's glass with champagne.
Pinchas rose. 'And now, Mieses, you must give me a car-fare. I have to go and talk to the manager about rehearsals. One must superintend the actors one's self these pumpkin-heads are capable of any crime, even of altering one's best phrases. Radsikoff smiled.
'But he's no worse than the others; I've never yet found the contract any manager couldn't slip out of. I've never yet met the playwright that the manager couldn't dodge. Radsikoff, indeed, divided his time between devising plays and devising contracts. Every experience but suggested fresh clauses. He regarded Pinchas with commiseration rather than jealousy.
He had sat still in his corner, this most prolific of Ghetto dramatists, his big, furrowed forehead supported on his fist, a huge, odorous cigar in his mouth. 'I suppose Goldwater plays "Hamlet," he said. 'We have not discussed it yet, said Pinchas airily. Radsikoff smiled again. 'Oh, he'll pull through so long as Mrs. Goldwater doesn't play "Ophelia."
'I'll drown her truly before I let her play my "Ophelia," said the poet venomously. Radsikoff shrugged his shoulders and dropped into American. 'Well, it's up to you. 'The minx! Pinchas shook his fist at the air. 'But I'll manage her. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll make love to her. The poet's sublime confidence in his charms was too much even for his admirers.
The mental juxtaposition of the seedy poet and the piquant actress in her frills and furbelows set the whole café rocking with laughter. Pinchas took it as a tribute to his ingenious method of drawing the soubrette-serpent's fangs. He grinned placidly. 'And when is your play coming on? asked Radsikoff. 'After Passover, replied Pinchas, beginning to button his frock-coat against the outer cold.
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