The clever playlet writer is advertised by the ease—­the simplicity—­with which he condenses every bit of the exposition into the opening speeches.  You are right in the middle of things before you realize it and it is all done so skillfully that its straightforwardness leaves never a suspicion that the simplicity is not innate but manufactured; it seems artless, yet its artlessness is the height of art.  The beginning of a playlet, then, must convey to the audience every bit of information about the characters and their relations to each other that is necessary for clear understanding.  Furthermore, it must tell it all compactly and swiftly in the very first speeches, and by the seeming artlessness of its opening events it must state the problem so simply that what follows is foreshadowed and seems not only natural but inevitable.

2.  The Middle Must Develop the Problem Logically and Solve the Entanglement in a “Big” Scene

For the purpose of perfect understanding, I would define the “middle” of a playlet as that part which carries the story on from the indispensable introduction to and into the scene of final suspense—­the climax—­in which the chief character’s will breaks or triumphs and the end is decided.  In “The Lollard” this would be from the entrance of Fred Saltus and his talk with Angela, to Miss Carey’s exposure of Fred’s “lollardness,” which breaks down Angela’s determination by showing her that her husband is no worse than Fred and makes it certain that Harry has only to return to his delightful deceptions of dress to carry her off with him home.

(a) The “Exciting Force." The beginning of the action that we have agreed to call the middle of a playlet, is technically termed “the exciting force.”  The substance of the whole matter is this:  Remember what your story is and tell it with all the dramatic force with which you are endowed.

Perhaps the most common, and certainly the very best, place to “start the trouble”—­to put the exciting force which arouses the characters to conflict—­is the very first possible instant after the clear, forceful and foreshadowing introduction.  The introduction has started the action of the story, the chief characters have shown what they are and the interest of the audience has been awakened.  Now you must clinch that interest by having something happen that is novel, and promises in the division of personal interests which grow out of it to hold a punch that will stir the sympathies legitimately and deeply.

(b) The “Rising Movement." This exciting force is the beginning of what pundits call “the rising movement”—­in simple words, the action which from now on increases in meaning vital to the characters and their destinies.  What happens, of course, depends upon the material and the treatment, but there is one point that requires a moment’s discussion here, although closely linked with the ability to seize upon the dramatic—­if it is not, itself, the heart of the dramatic.  This important point is, that in every story set for the stage, there are certain