his is a gallant beginning. Don't you think so, Brown?"

"Very interesting attempt to dramatize those boyish fancies," the
English critic replied. "But I don't quite see how you can advance on
these idyllic lines. It's pretty, but is it drama?"

"He will show us," replied the novelist. "I have great faith in Mr.
Douglass. He is helping to found an American drama. You must see his
other plays."

Westervelt came to the box wheezing with excitement. "My boy, you are
made. The critics are disarmed. They begin to sing of you."

Douglass remained calm. "There is plenty of time for them to turn
bitter," he answered. "I am most sceptical when they are gracious."

The second act left the idyllic ground, and by force of stern contrast
held the audience enthralled. The boy was being disillusioned. _The
Morning_ had grown gray. Doubt of his ideal beset the poet. The world's
forces began to benumb and appall him. His ideal woman passed to the
possession of another. He lost faith in himself. The cloud deepened, the
sky, overshadowed as by tempest, let fall lightning and a crash of
thunder. So the act closed.

The applause was unreservedly cordial--no one failed to join in the fine
roar--and in the midst of it Douglass, true to his promise, hurried back
to the scenes to find Helen.

She met him, radiant with excitement. "My brave boy! You have won your
victory. They are calling for you." He protested. She insisted. "No, no.
It is _you_. I've been out. Hear them; they want the author. Come!"

Dazed and wordless, weak from stage-fright, he permitted himself to be
led forth into the terrifying glare of the footlight world. There his
guide left him, abandoned him, pitifully exposed to a thousand eyes,
helpless and awkward. He turned to flee, to follow her, but the roguish
smile on her face, as she kissed her fingers towards him, somehow roused
his pride and gave him courage to face the tumult. As he squared himself
an awesome silence settled over the house--a silence that inspired as
well as appalled by its expectancy.

"Friends, I thank you," the pale and resolute author weakly began. "I
didn't know I had so many friends in the world. Two minutes ago I was so
scared my teeth chattered. Now I am entirely at my ease--you notice
that." The little ripple of laughter which followed this remark really
gave him time to think--gave him courage. "I feel that I am at last face
to face with an audience that knows my work--that is ready to