the car around to the
door, so you won't have to walk in the sun." And he departed as quickly
as he had come.

That night Mr. Vandeford lay stretched on his bed in a dark coolness,
with his hands clasped over his eyes, when Mr. Farraday came in with his
latch-key at twelve-thirty.

"Denny?" he asked from the darkness as Mr. Farraday was tiptoeing past
his open door, through which the southern sea-breeze was pouring, "'What
sort of chap _is_ that Vandeford?'"

"The telegram I sent read, 'the best ever.'"

"Are you competent to judge me?"

"I am."

"Good-night!"

For an hour before this masculine version of a scene a feminine real
thing was being conducted in the two little dotted-muslin-curtained
cells at the Y. W. C. A. Miss Adair was telling Miss Lindsey "all about
it," and sparks and tears both were in the atmosphere. The explosion was
brought on by Miss Lindsey remarking to Miss Adair:

"You know, honey lady, that play of yours is simply ripping, but it is
not at all like--like what I thought it would be from hearing you and
Mr. Farraday tell it."

"It's not my play at all; it's Mr. Vandeford's. He got somebody to fit
it to Miss Hawtry," replied Miss Adair, calmly, as she began to brush
her dark, sleek mane.

"What do you mean?" demanded Miss Lindsey, in astonishment.

"He just took the dinner situation in my play and got a man to make a
new one out of it that is--is vulgar enough to appeal to the New York
theater-goers. He let everybody put in anything they wanted to, instead
of what I wrote. He left in a little of mine to compliment me. It's all
right, because nobody would have gone to see my play if anybody goes to
see--see his." Miss Adair went on calmly with the fifty-third stroke on
her raven tresses, but her eyes were beginning to blaze.

"Mr. Vandeford's a complete fool," was on the tip of Miss Lindsey's
tongue, but she remembered her main chance, which was the favor of Mr.
Godfrey Vandeford, and said instead: "I wish you would let me see a copy
of the play as you wrote it. Have you one?"

"I have, in my trunk, and I'll read it to you," answered Miss Adair, and
in defensive pride she produced a copy of "The Purple Slipper," which
bore the unexpurgated title of "The Renunciation of Rosalind," and
proceeded to read it to Miss Lindsey, with both fire and tragedy in her
voice.

The operation occupied the two hours before midnight, and Miss Lindsey
lay prostrate when it was finished.

"Now, wh