When he entered his dreary little room, his eye fell upon the wallet, which lay under the table where he had dropped it. What was he going to p. 21do with that—with this whole Krutzmacht business? Why, simply nothing at all. In the morning, he would go around to St. Joseph’s and see how the sick man was. If Krutzmacht recovered, there was nothing to do but to return his pocketbook. But if he got worse, or was dead already? Well, Brainard could turn the wallet over to the hospital people or the coroner, and that would end the affair for him. p. 21 With this prudent resolution he took his play from the drawer, and looked it over. His interest in the thing had quite gone, and the sting of its rejection no longer smarted. Very likely it was as bad as the managers to whom he had submitted it seemed to think. He tied the manuscript together with a piece of twine, and shoved it back into the drawer. One sheet—that last one on which he had taken down Krutzmacht’s dictation—was missing from this roll. That sheet contained his final curtain. He looked at the lines, and smiled as he read. The Lady Violet was parting from her lover, with the following dialogue: CONTENTS Violet.—Oh, Alexander! Violet Alexander.—Violet! Alexander Violet.—What will you do, dearest? Violet Alexander.—I go on my great adventure! Alexander Violet.—Your great adventure? Violet
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