thing. It was only later that Rutherford learned craft and caution. When he wrote Willie he was a colt, rambling unchecked through the field of play-writing, ignorant of its pitfalls. But, with all its faults, Willie in the Wilderness was a success. It might, as one critic pointed out, be more of a monologue act for Winfield Knight than a play, but that did not affect Rutherford.
It was late on the opening night when he returned to Alcala. He had tried to get away earlier. He wanted to see Peggy. But Winfield Knight, flushed with success, was in his most expansive mood. He seized upon Rutherford and would not let him go. There was supper, a gay, uproarious supper, at which everybody seemed to be congratulating everybody else. Men he had never met before shook him warmly by the hand. Somebody made a speech, despite the efforts of the rest of the company to prevent him. Rutherford sat there, dazed, out of touch with the mood of the party. He wanted Peggy. He was tired of all this excitement and noise. He had had enough of it. All he asked was to be allowed to slip away quietly and go home. He wanted to think, to try and realize what all this meant to him.
At length the party broke up in one last explosion of handshaking and congratulations; and, eluding Winfield Knight, who proposed to take him off to his club, he started to walk up Broadway.
It was late when he reached Alcala. There was a light in his room. Peggy had waited up to hear the news.
She jumped off the table as he came in.
“Well?” she cried.
Rutherford sat down and stretched out his legs.
“It’s a success,” he said. “A tremendous success!”
Peggy clapped her hands.
“Bully for you, George! I knew it would be. Tell me all about it. Was Winfield good?”
“He was the whole piece. There was nothing in it but him.” He rose and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Peggy, old girl, I don’t know what to say. You know as well as I do that it’s all owing to you that the piece has been a success. If I hadn’t had your help—”
Peggy laughed.
“Oh, beat it, George!” she said. “Don’t you come jollying me. I look like a high-brow playwright, don’t I! No; I’m real glad you’ve made a hit, George, but don’t start handing out any story about it’s not being your own. I didn’t do a thing.”
“You did. You did everything.”
“I didn’t. But, say, don’t let’s start quarrelling. Tell me more about it. How many calls did you take?”
He told her all that had happened. When he had finished, there was a silence.
“I guess you’ll be quitting soon, George?” said Peggy, at last. “Now that you’ve made a home-run. You’ll be going back to that rube joint, with the cows and hens—isn’t that it?”
Rutherford did not reply. He was staring thoughtfully at the floor. He did not seem to have heard.
“I guess that girl’ll be glad to see you,” she went on. “Shall you cable to-morrow, George? And then you’ll get married and go and live in the rube house, and become a regular hayseed and—” She broke