ted by
its rampant, red leonine locks.

"I have pity for Mr. Farraday," Mr. Meyers remarked to himself as he
seated himself at his machine, not knowing that in a very few minutes
the second live wire would arrive in the office and this time he would
get a shock himself.

For a half-hour he wrote on, while the animated voices boomed and purled
and bubbled in the office beyond the crack of the door he had left open
to observe the first lull that might call for relief. Then he got his
shock.

The office door opened timidly, and somebody entered so quietly that she
stood beside Mr. Adolph Meyers before he had lifted his head.

It was the author of "The Renunciation of Rosalind," now "The Purple
Slipper," and she looked every inch of it! Miss Elvira, the genius
guided by "The Feminist Review," had done her best with the blue-silk
suit, and Fifth Avenue could have done no better.

"May I see Mr. Vandeford? I am Miss Patricia Adair," she announced in a
rich and calm Southern voice and manner.

Mr. Adolph Meyers sprang to his feet with the impact of the shock.

"Mr. Vandeford is not in the office, Madam, at present," he managed to
gasp. Then he followed her big, gray eyes as they rested on the crack of
the door through which the boom of Mr. Dennis Farraday's voice mingled
with the excited chime of Miss Lindsey's laughter, and noticed as though
for the first time that it had emblazoned upon it in large, gilt
letters, "Mr. Vandeford. Private."

"It is Mr. Dennis Farraday, the partner of Mr. Vandeford, engaging
actors, Miss, in his absence. Will you walk in?" and in almost the first
panic in which he had ever indulged Mr. Adolph Meyers showed the proud
young author into the sanctum sanctorum from which he had barricaded
many an enraged virago who had threatened his life if he kept her from
an appeal to the manager.

"It is Miss Adair, the author of your play, Mr. Farraday, would speak
with you," he announced across the long room, bowed in a way he had
never done in his life, and shut the door behind Miss Adair.

It is interesting to wonder how it would have affected the end of the
whole matter if Patricia Adair had walked in behind the giggler when Mr.
Godfrey Vandeford, with all his experience with authors, was seated on
the throne instead of poor inexperienced Dennis Farraday, enjoying "The
Purple Slipper" with his newly engaged, supporting lady.

"By jove, Miss Adair, it is little bit of all right that you should c