All sorts of mythical tales began to appear in print concerning his personality. The story that obtained the widest vogue was that Brainard, having in his younger and penniless days sighed in vain for the favor of a theatrical lady, had gone off to Arizona with despair in his heart, “struck sulfur,” and now had returned to build a palatial theater on Broadway for his old flame. A rather obscure young actress was named as the heroine of the tale, and the lady, when asked about the story by reporters, failed to deny it. Instead, she coyly led the newspaper men to embroider further details on the theme. “See what you’ve got me into with your publicity business!” Brainard exclaimed ruefully, holding out the morning newspaper to Farson, when the latter came for the day’s work to the little house on Gramercy Park into which Brainard had moved. The secretary, who had already seen the article, merely grinned and admitted: “She has the cheek! They are all like that—anything to get themselves talked about. But it’s all right—it helps to spread the great idea.” “I should say it did! Look at that!” Brainard pointed to a sack of mail that had been poured out over the library table. “And there’s a lot more, they tell me, at the post office. We shall have to open an office and hire some clerks, or chuck it into the fire.” “It all helps,” the ex-reporter affirmed, dipping his hands into the mass with zest. “You don’t understand the American public yet. It has to have Romance with a capital R to sugar-coat any idea before it will swallow it.” “There was pretty nearly everything in yesterday’s mail, from an offer of marriage to a recipe for making a successful play, not to mention one hundred and eighty-seven specimens of original American drama.” “Here are a few more of the same sort,” the secretary laughed, tossing out a handful of bulky packages. “The literary committee will have something to do when it finds time. That’s me!” He tossed the manuscripts into a corner. “The thirty-first application for position as leading lady from an actress ‘of established reputation, at present on the Oregon circuit’—that goes to Mac’s pile,” he remarked, throwing the lady’s letter into a basket. “Proposal of marriage, marked ‘strictly personal,’” he continued, handing over an envelope to his employer. “We must get out some printed forms for acknowledgment of these—one for marriage, one for plays, and one for positions in the company.” “If this is publicity, let’s try for privacy!” Brainard groaned, tearing the marriage letter into bits. “Here’s a new note!” Farson exclaimed, pausing in his swift disposal of the mail to read aloud a letter. “GENTS: