The Press., 1911-02-08


 ed that the Winthrops and the Fuller tons had not invited him to their sup per party, and, strange as it doubtless would have seemed to the many friends in the theater who would have liked to have him for guest or host, he wandered out through the stage door, solitary, saddened and wondering where the deuce he would go to get the bite of food and drink that he needed and yet not run into some gath ering connected with his own produc- tion. He was bitterly commenting to himself on how lonely a man of pride can be when he met two or three of the minor actors of the company and joined their party gladly, and with them he sat up until those Hateful early editions were spread before them and he knew that his play was a dis astrous failure.
 He would have given a great deal to be able to talk to Dora that aft ernoon, for the evening papers only re-enforced the judgment of the morn ing papers, and the 'sale" at the box office indicated that the public had no intention of quarreling with the critics He was in and around the theater most of the day, hoping that Dora ight come to the playhouse or that she might at least telephone to him and condole. there being absolutely no reason for congratulations.
 Night at last came, and he had an exc use for seeing her, but she merely nodded to him as she passed him in tl,a wings, and he turned bitterly away from the stage and went out to the front of the house to watch his play and see if he could see it as the critics had. He was not entirely successful in getting their point of view He saw many faults, but he still felt that the play had merit and that it simply had missed fire, but just where the fault lay he was unable to discover.
 He was glad, however, that he had the engagement with M. Vavin, for the idle chatter of his associates meant nothing to him. He reached the hotel shortly after Vavin himself had ar rived and found that the old gentle
 
 for supper for three,
 q hope" said Vavin, "that my re- quest was not too much like con- mand."
 Any request of yours, monsieur" replied Holcomb, twill have that force," For the younger dramatist not only knew how deeply he was obligated to the Frenchman, but he had genuine reverence for his abil- ity and affection for his kindly ironic personality.
 ''You are despondent," said the old man. "Let me offer you a glass of wine." And under his kindly treat ment Holcomb poured forth what he called the wretched climax of a wretched endeavor.
 You are wrong there,' said Vavin. "You have written a good play-not a remarkable play, but it is damnably prepared, that play of yours. You and will see that it is still made a suc- cess'
 "You and I?'' repeated Holcomb.
 "Yes, you and I. You have never been in Paris? Then you do not know why French plays succeed. There are many reasons, but those plays, monsieur, are wonderfully well re- heafsed. Pardon me iNfor a moment change the subject You love Miss Fullertops"
 "I Gln"
 "You have told her?"
 "I have"
 "Tell her again and again. The spirit Is wounded. You have been weak. my boy. A sensitive girl who has had fighting conditions all her life cannot be handled at first as the woman who is grown up and who is strong, who has had sympathy and who has tasted of success. Now, again, this profes- sion of yours. You are anxious to write plays. Why-the moneyY"
 Not entirely" replied Holcomb. "I have made living ever since I was ten years old, but I see things that way. Some fellows see pictures-they paint. Some see buildings-they plan, l see men and women, and my men and women collide and persuade-and fght.''
 You see them here," said Vavin, in- dicating his forehead. You have been'-
 Certainly" replied Holcomb.
 ''But the public," said Vavin-"what of. it9 Do you think of the influence that you have on the public? Are you thinking of your public when you write?'
 Holcomb hesitated. He was not quite sure that he had thought of his nnhlic
 "It occurs to me sometimes" he said.
 "It must occur always" said Vavin lmpressively. "There is no suggestion so subtle, so sure, so strong, as the sug- gestion the playwright makes from the stage to the people. I have white hairs Yours is dark. Believe me, I would give the rest of my life to go back and take from my plays every word that has made any man less honest, less hopeful, less kind"
 ''It is my play that leads you to say this to me, monSteurY'
 "Oh, no; pardon me-" replied Vavin, ''it is you. I have been asking ques- tions about you, and learned that-l shall be brief, monsieur-you have a rival in your affection for my-l1ttle friend Dora."
 "Yes," said Holcomb wearily; "I guess Graham Winthrop is very much of rival just now"
 "Have you talked with her since yesterday"
 "No; she has avoided me-"
 Because she doubts," said Vavin- doubts herself, and because of that I bring you here together tonight. I am for you. my boy" and he held out his hand with smile that had in it more sunshine than Holcomb had seen in many day.
 The telephone bell rang, and vavin's answer was to say that the people should come up. "You got my note at the theater last night" he said, "tell- ing you to bring your manuscript with VOL? GoOdv; And as a knock sound