"Friends, I thank you," the pale and resolute author weakly began. "I didn't know I had so many friends in the world. Two minutes ago I was so scared my teeth chattered. Now I am entirely at my ease--you notice that." The little ripple of laughter which followed this remark really gave him time to think--gave him courage. "I feel that I am at last face to face with an audience that knows my work--that is ready to support a serious attempt at playwriting. I claim that a play may do something more than amuse--it may _interest_. There is a wide difference, you will see. To be an amusement merely is to degrade our stage to the level of a Punch-and-Judy show. I am sorry for tired men and weary women, but as a dramatist I can't afford to take their troubles into account. I am writing for those who are mentally alert and willing to support plays that have at least the dignity of intention which lies in our best novels. This does not mean gloomy plays or problem plays, but it does mean conscientious study of American life. If you like me as well after the close of the play"--he made dramatic pause--"well I shall not be able to sleep to-night. I sincerely thank you. You have given me a fair hearing--that is all I can ask--and I am very grateful." This little speech seemed to please his auditors, but his real reward came when Helen met him at the wings and caught his arm to her side in an ecstatic little hug. "You did beautifully! You make me afraid of you when you stand tall and grand like that. You were scared though. I could see that." "You deserted me," he answered, in mock accusation. "You led me into the crackling musketry and ran away." "I wanted to see of what metal you were made," she answered, and fled to her dressing-room to prepare for the final act. "Now for the real test," said the novelist, with a kindly smile. "I think we could all write plays if it were not for the difficulty of ending them." "I begin to tremble for my climax," Douglass answered. "It is so important to leave a sweet and sonorous sound in the ear at the last. It must die on the sense like the sound of a bell." "It's a remarkable achievement, do you know," began the English critic, "to carry a parable along with a realistic study of life. I can't really see how you're coming out." "I don't know myself," replied Douglass. The play closed quietly, with a subjective climax so deep, so true to human nature that it laid hold upon every heart. The applause was slow in rising, but grew in power till it filled the theatre like some great anthem. No one rose, no one was putting on wraps. The spell lasted till the curtain rose three times on the final picture.