(_This makes him hesitate to continue. He glances toward the manuscript of_ THE LONELY WAY. _He rises slowly and picks it up cynically. Then, as though fascinated, he gradually settles in the cozy chair by his table. He begins to become absorbed as he reads his earlier play. He puts his hand over his eyes, he lowers the manuscript, gives a sigh as though lost in the thoughts it calls up. The door, which he has locked, opens noiselessly, and closes as_ GRANT _looks up in surprise and sees a man enter_. GRANT _immediately discovers there is something extraordinary about his unexpected visitor. As he directs the light upon him_, GRANT _perceives the man’s power which lies both in his frame and impressive personality. His eyes have a relentless coldness when they narrow. His mouth is firm but cruel, with a sarcastic droop pulling down the corners. In spite of an occasional uncouth manner of spasmodically blurting out his words_, GRANT _soon realizes how keen is the intruder’s penetration when it is sharpened to the one point which vitally concerns him--his art. For this man of fifty-five winters, is a great artist._ GRANT _is too amazed and puzzled to recognize it is one of his own creations_: TOM ROBINSON. _The latter comes over to the dramatist and places a hand on his shoulder._) TOM You and I have some scores to settle. GRANT (_Moving away_) Who are you? TOM So you don’t recognize me? GRANT Your manners are familiar. TOM So Whistler once said. Look at me closely. GRANT Is this a dare? TOM (_Shaking his head slowly_) An author’s brain is indeed a store-house of mixed impressions: a strange asylum for me to have escaped from. GRANT (_Starting toward door_) Possibly the police may be able to lead you safely home. TOM I am at home with you. GRANT Don’t get excited. Keep perfectly cool. TOM I am cool because my intention is. (GRANT _gives him a look as_ TOM _goes over to the machine and glances at the heading of the article_.) “How I Make My Characters Live!” You certainly do--some of us. (GRANT _suddenly crosses to the door, tries it and realizes it is still locked. He turns, bewildered, to_ TOM.) GRANT How did you get in here? TOM Why shouldn’t I? As your fellow-craftsman once remarked: “I am a trifle light as air.” GRANT I can’t say you look it. TOM (_Eyeing him as he lights one of_ GRANT’S _cigarettes_) Since you don’t recognize me perhaps you didn’t do what you did to me--deliberately. GRANT But I’ve never done a thing to you. TOM Are we so soon forgot? (_Puffing_) Yet how reminiscent the odor of this cigarette. I notice you still smoke the same cheap brand. GRANT I must say I admire your nerve. TOM You ought to admire it. You gave it to me. GRANT I never gave you anything. TOM (_Bluntly_) Liar! You gave me life! GRANT Gave you life? TOM Yes; I am your child. GRANT My child? (_He laughs._)