This was the second time, Brainard reflected, that he had received a valuable lesson in ethics from the fight-trust magnate. He understood now why Hollinger had been reading Milton when he first made his acquaintance on the Overland Limited. He was a business philosopher. “If you are going to deal with people,” he added gently, “you must know how they act and feel about things.” “I suppose that is why you let the heroine capture the thief in this piece?” Brainard remarked. “Precisely! The clever young dramatist who knocked the thing together for me was all for another ending, a more convincing one, perhaps, where the heroine was bought off for a good share of the bonds and currency. But although admitting the truth of his reasoning, I could not permit him to ruin the success of our play. We were compelled to violate nature again, and in deference to the public’s unquenchable thirst for Virtue we allowed the slow-moving heroine to accomplish the dire purpose of her vengeful passions with the assistance of the government. In its present form our play is terribly satisfying to our public. It gratifies especially that common human desire to get somebody. Half our criminal justice is built upon the same unpleasant trait of human nature. . . . By the way,” he remarked, interrupting the flow of his philosophical analysis, “I almost forgot! There’s a friend of yours in behind who wants to see you. I promised to bring you back. You’ve no objections?” “None at all!” Brainard laughed. “You see our encounter didn’t turn out quite like the play, fortunately for me!” “So I understand,” Hollinger replied demurely, holding the curtain aside to let the others precede him. X They found the leading lady waiting for them on the darkened stage. She was dressed quite handsomely in her street costume, with the inevitable fur coat that seems the most characteristic mark of her profession. Without her makeup and stage costume she looked much older than Brainard remembered her to be and also stouter. But her dark face and flashing eyes still preserved an air of confident assurance in her good looks that had characterized Krutzmacht’s stenographer. “Good evening, Mr. Wilkins!” she said promptly as the men approached her. At that unfortunate _nom de guerre_ Farson laughed outright. Hollinger came to the rescue. “Mr. Edgar Brainard, of the new People’s Theater; Miss Lorilla Walters of _The Stolen Bonds_ company,” the fight-trust man said with a little cough. “We seem both to have changed names,” Brainard observed, shaking hands with the leading lady. “Walters is my stage name,” the former stenographer snapped. “Wilkins was mine—for a few hours!” Brainard laughed.