The husband was an almost unmitigated cad—almost, because his sadism, selfishness, philandering, and alcoholism had to be relieved by some minor good qualities, or he could hardly be believed. At any rate, no one could possibly like the husband, and Sydney could foresee The Whip’s strangle-murder of him being cheered by man, woman, and child of the television audience. Of course, The Whip got off scot free and the wife, too, as The Whip had made her spend the weekend in a town sixty miles away. Sydney wrote: Monday 10:10 P.M. Alex, old pal, Here is another synopsis, packed with Whiplike action that should make Robin Hood look like a sitting duck. Don’t be downcast about that one rejection. We’ll lash them with Whip stories till they open their glassy eyes and see how good they are. Next year we should be writing these from our own island in Greece. Yours forever,Syd Then, singing his own words to “After the Ball Is Over,”
