aid Mr.
Meyers, reading from a neat little cream-white note in his hand.

"Sweet child!" murmured Mr. Vandeford, as he took up his hat and stick.
"Don't encourage her in any way in your letter, Pop. We don't want her
rushing to the scene of action when we butcher her child. Pay the two
thousand to Hilliard for the option on 'The Rosie Posie Girl' until
January first, and tell him I am going to produce it in November. 'Phone
me at Highcliff to-morrow if you want me. I'll be clearing the deck for
the--spanking."

"I wish you good luck," said Mr. Meyers feelingly.

"What do you judge that play is about from reading the first act, and
what is the author's name? I might have to produce a little concrete
information in the fracas," the eminent producer paused to inquire just
as he was closing the door.

"It is written by a Miss Patricia Adair of Adairville, Kentucky, and it
has in plenty of ruffles and romance that is in a past time of a
Colonial Governor and his wife alone at home with him in Washington."

"That sounds about right for the weapon of castigation for Violet
Hawtry, _nee_ Murphy. I have always believed in hunches, and that
accord in color was meant to mean something. Better send me a copy
special in the morning. If Mr. Farraday calls me before I get him tell
him the Astor at one to-day. What did I say? Marrons, lip stick, and--"

"Rose oil," prompted Mr. Meyers, with just the trace of a sneer in his
voice.

"Right O! Rose oil it is. By!" And the door closed on Mr. Vandeford's
graceful figure in its gray London tweeds.

Thus a great adventure was undertaken in all levity. And with his
chief's complete departure a change came into the mien of Mr. Adolph
Meyers. He told the stenographer in the outer office to engage two girls
to copy a play that afternoon and evening, to keep him from being
interrupted until six, and to muffle the telephone unless in cases of
emergency. Then he seated himself in Mr. Vandeford's deep chair, put his
feet on the desk, lit a fat, black cigar and plunged into "The Purple
Slipper," _nee_ "The Renunciation of Rosalind." For two hours he read
with the deepest absorption, only pausing to make an occasional note on
a pad at his elbow. Then after he had laid down the manuscript with its
purple wrappings and ribbons, he sat for a half hour in a trance, out of
which he came to seat himself at the typewriter to indite a portentous
letter, which he put in an envelope, sealed and directed