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Moore: Our logic will not bring us any nearer to a National Theatre. We shall get it—if we get it—because it is desired, and I do not think the opposition will borrow my metaphysics to confute us. The argument that will be produced against us will be such as the plain man in the street can understand. He will ask, and his spokesman in Parliament, who duplicates him, will ask: For what purpose are plays written? He will answer his question himself: To please. And for whom does the playwright cater? The answer comes pat: The public. Who, therefore, are more capable of judging plays than the general public? And if the general public be admitted as competent judges, why set up another standard? The general public have always supported Shakespeare; Shakespeare is good. Answer me that if you can. And he sits down confident in the triumph of common sense over the sophistries of the crank.

Barker: The voice of the politician whose mouthpiece you are for the moment will be heard certainly in Parliament, but I would have you remember that many voices will be heard, and that it is not to the voice of the rook or the jay the mob listen.

Moore: The mob will listen to the nightingale, I know, because the nightingale sings for nothing.

Barker: It surprises me to find you on the side of the mob.

Moore: Not on the side of the mob, but their spokesman for the nonce, as you have said. I read in your book that the cost of a National Theatre would be a million. I always calculated that the sum required would be about five hundred thousand pounds.

Barker: That was before the War. The cost would now be a million.

{{sc|Moore:}] Half of which, I understand, would go to the building of the theatre. And when the Bill comes before Parliament the question will be put: Why build a new theatre? Why not buy one of the theatres already in existence and save five hundred thousand pounds? I am not expressing my opinion, Barker, but anticipating an argument.

Barker: My answer to the heckler is simple: Sir, you lack the civic sense. The business of the National Theatre is not the exclusive production of modern plays. I would not ban modern plays—who would, if we get a good play? And by a good play I do not mean a play that will run as long as a public house, but one that will encourage and enrapture those who seek pleasure in thought. In my little speech to the caviller whom you are representing at this