Publicity

Scene: Private sitting-room in a large hotel. Armchairs. Expensive chandelier.
Near (importent). his valet, a strange visitor. The star, seated in his dressing gown, is
surrounded by a litter of papers, news clippings, letters, etc.

(Enter Valet.)

Valet: Another gentleman to interview you, sir.
Star: Oh, this publicity! Can’t a man have even a few minutes of privacy in this country?
Another newspaper fellow, I suppose. Show him in.
(Enter Visitor.)

Star (languidly): You wish to interview me?
Visitor: I shan’t take up much of your time.
Star: Fire away. What do you want to know?
Visitor: First of all, I should like to have some
particulars regarding your salary.
Star (wearily): Oh, well, I suppose the public likes that sort of thing.
I earn, usually, £1200 a week when I am here.
Visitor (writing): £1200 a week.
Thank you.
Star: By the way, I don’t think I got your name.
What paper do you represent?
Visitor: Paper? Oh, I’m not a reporter. I’m from the State Income Tax office.
(Curtain.)