The Council of American Writers has just watched the performance of a play having something to do with muskrats. Everyone agrees the play is putrid, except for the critic Jules Fougler, who calls it a great play. Anyone can praise a good play, but it takes something special to take something that smells and turn it into a hit.
And this isn't the first instance of garbage being sold to the public as great art. Toohey had puffed The Gallant Gallstone, as well as a more recent travel book, and both were received well by the public, despite being terrible.
Keating arrives after the performance and is told that he has missed a great work, provided that he isn't a literal-minded person with limited imagination.
Toohey writes a column in praise of modern architecture, even the work of Henry Cameron, which has come to be appreciated of late. The column is painful to read, as usual.
Keating feels exhausted just thinking of the scope of the Stoneridge project. He turns the job over to two colleagues. One of the colleagues, Cornelius Dumont, becomes a partner of the firm when Guy Francon retires.
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