Poor Caroline by Winifred Holtby Read Free Book Online

films, Hollywood and English films, their actual vulgarity, their potential excellence. He talked well, with a knowledge which seemed topical rather than profound. Could Mitchell find suitable entertainment in the cinema for his three daughters? He could not.
    'Of course, aesthetically, they are contemptible. Educa tionally,' the client shrugged slender shoulders. 'Well, of course, personally, I find it a little difficult to gauge the taste of the average schoolboy. When I was at Eton . . .'
    Eton. Eton. Eton, echoed Joseph's conscience. This ex quisite creature was a product of Eton. Benjamin . . . He missed several sentences.
    '. . . from the ethical standpoint,' concluded the client.
    'Oh, there you have it. There you have it, Mr. St. Denis,' said the tailor. 'From the ethical standpoint I agree with you. I endorse your sentiments. I uphold you. We do not want Hollywood morals in our English Homes. As for the Empire. Look at the effect that this sort of thing must have upon the natives. As an imperial responsibility, Mr. St. Denis, the Government ought to take the matter in hand. British prestige is being lowered, reduced, degraded by the obscenities - pardon the word - the indecencies of Ameri can actresses.'
    'The Government? Hum. Now, as a Conservative, Mitchell, I put it to you. Do you really approve of Govern ment interference with industry?'
    'Industry, sir? Industry's a different matter. This is a question of morals.'
    'Ultimately, Mitchell. Ultimately. I grant you that the final judgment upon the cinema may be ethical. But the immediate motive is - I put it to you - commercial.'
    'What we need is a censor, Mr. St. Denis.'
    'We have one. We have one, Mitchell. An entire Board of Censors. And what do they achieve? - What is the use of banning a few bad films? The demand is there. It will be supplied somehow. What we want, I suggest, Mitchell, is enterprise - competition. We want to place upon the mar ket a film which will be worth showing.'
    'Very pretty, Mr. St. Denis. Very pretty. But where is it to come from, sir? America? Can we make silk purses out of sows' ears? England? British enterprise is dead to-day. Dead. Killed by the Dole and Government interference.'
    'Not dead, Mitchell. Not dead. Sleeping. The Sleeping Beauty waiting for Prince Charming.'
    'I dare say. I dare say. And where is he, Mr. St. Denis? Where is he, I say?'
    St. Denis laughed.
    'I am a modest man,' he said. 'Far be it from me . . .'
    'You, Mr. St. Denis?'
    'Well, Mitchell. And why not? Don't you think it about time that I did something to justify my existence?'
    And then it seemed to Joseph as though he were watching a very intricate and expert duel, which proceeded according to the ritual of all good sword-play. The elegant client called St. Denis was clearly determined to interest Mr. Mitchell in some scheme for the formation of a company to reform the British cinema. Nor did the interest appear to be purely impersonal. Joseph had himself an hereditary under standing of finesse. He understood why Mr. St. Denis pressed so lightly, so ironically, the claims of his cinema company. He understood the heavier retreats and defences of the tailor.
    The tailor, of course, was in the superior position. He only had to listen and deny. St. Denis had to do more than that. It became evident to Joseph, watching, that St. Denis, like many other exquisite young men, was in financial diffi culties. In short, he could not pay his tailor's bill. He sought instead to prolong his credit by dazzling Mr. Mitchell with the prospects of a new cinema company of which he was, it seemed, to be the chairman of the directing board.
    'So suitable, don't you think, Mitchell, being a rector's son?' murmured Mr. St. Denis.
    A rector's son who had been to Eton, noted the father of Ben Isenbaum.

But the rector's son who had been to Eton was not by any means winning his match. For all his light fencing, his delicate thrusts and agile ripostes, he was being beaten back by the