"I've been thinking
of it for a long time. I ought never to have been in this
business at all, and I'm going to live in the country. Oh, I'm
in my right mind!" He paused to glare indignantly in response to
old Tinker's steady gaze. "Of course you think 'something's
happened' to upset me. Well, nothing has. Nothing of the
slightest consequence has occurred since I saw you at rehearsal.
Can't a man be allowed to think? I just came home here and got
to thinking of the kind of life I lead--and I decided that I'm
tired of it. And I'm not going to lead it any longer. That's
all."
"Ah," said Tinker quietly. "Nerves."
Talbot Potter appealed to the universe with a passionate
gesture. "Nerves!" he cried bitterly. "Yes, that's what they say
when an actor dares to think. 'Go on! Play your part! Be a
marionette forever!' That's what you tell us! 'Slave for your
living, you sordid little puppet! Squirm and sweat and strut,
but don't you ever dare to think!' You tell us that because you
know if we ever did stop to think for one instant about
ourselves you wouldn't have any actors! Actors! Faugh! What do
we get, I ask you?"
He strode close to Tinker and shook a frantic forefinger within
a foot of the quiet old fellow's face.
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