After cogitating off and on through the night I decided upon what will probably be the first sentence of my novel (Anna Tellwright): "Bursley, the ancient home of the potter, has an antiquity of a thousand years" - and also upon the arrangement of the first long paragraph describing the Potteries.
This evening, at his request, I called to "have a chat" with Cyril Maude at the Haymarket Theatre.
Speaking of Phillpotts, he asked me if he was doing well.
"Very well indeed for a novelist," I said, "but a novelist never makes much money compared with you folks."
"Except", interrupted Maude, "when he writes a good play. I have a vivid recollection of sending Barrie a cheque for over £1000 for the first six weeks of the provincial tour of 'The Little Minister'.
As I was leaving he said: "Shall you begin the play at once?"
"I can't," I said; "I've too much on hand, but I shall do it within a year from now. Good-bye."
"And let us see it?" he called out anxiously. If it was acting it was incredibly fine acting. If it wasn't, he is really anxious to consider a piece of mine.
"Rather!" I replied, "I should think so after your kindness."