might have been an hallucination or perhaps you did see
him, though it could have been inflammation of conscience, Frederik: when
did you last see Annamarie?

FREDERIK. [_Angrily._] Haven't I told you already that I refuse to answer
any questions as to my--

DR. MACPHERSON. I think it only fair to tell you that it won't make a
particle of difference whether you answer me or not. I have someone on the
track now--working from an old address; I've called in the detectives and
I'll find her, you may be sure of that. As long as I'm going to know it, I
may as well hear your side of it, too. When did you last see Annamarie?

FREDERIK. [_Sits--answers dully, mechanically, after a pause._] About
three years ago.

DR. MACPHERSON. Never since?

FREDERIK. No.

DR. MACPHERSON. What occurred the last time you saw her?

FREDERIK. [_Quietly, as before._] What _always_ occurs when a young man
realizes that he has his life before him, must be respected--looked up to,
settle down, think of his future and forget a silly girl?

DR. MACPHERSON. A scene took place, eh? Was William present?

FREDERIK. Yes. She held him in her arms.

DR. MACPHERSON. And then?

FREDERIK. I left the house.

DR. MACPHERSON. Then it's all true. [FREDERIK _is silent._] What are you
going to do for William?

FREDERIK. Nothing. I'm a rich man now--and if I recognize him--he'll be at
me till the day he dies. His mother's gone to the dogs and under her
influence, the boy--

DR. MACPHERSON. Be silent, you damned young scoundrel. Oh! What an act of
charity if the good Lord took William, and I say it with all my heart. Out
of all you have--not a crumb for--

FREDERIK. I want you to know I've sweat for that money, and I'm going to
keep it!

DR. MACPHERSON. _You've_ sweat for--

FREDERIK. [_Showing feeling._]--Yes! How do you think I got the money? I
went to jail for it--jail, jail. Every day I've been in this house has
been spent in prison. I've been doing time. Do you think it didn't get on
my nerves? I've gone to bed at nine o'clock and thought of what I was
missing in New York. I've got up at cock-crow to be in time for grace at
the breakfast table. I took charge of a class in Sabbath-school, and I
handed out the infernal cornucopias at the church Christmas tree, while he
played Santa Claus. What more can a fellow do to earn his money? Don't you
call that sweating? No, sir; I've danced like a damned hand-organ monkey
for the pennies he left me, and