So I told him that Adrian was a mill worker, and the villain makes him
lose his position, by means of forjery. And Adrian goes to jail, and
comes out, and no one will give him work. So he prepares to blow up
a Milionaire's house, and his sweetheart is in it. He has been to the
Milionaire for work and been refused and thrown out, saying, just before
the butler and three footmen push him through a window, in dramatic
tones, "The world owes me a living and I will have it."
"Socialism!" said Carter. "Hard stuff to handle for the two dollar
seats. The world owes him a living. Humph! Still, that's a good line to
work on. Look here, Bab, give me a little time on this, eh what? I may
be able to think of a trick or two. But mind, not a word to any one."
He started out, but he came back.
"Look here," he said. "Where do we come in on this anyhow? Suppose I do
think of somthing--what then? How are we to know that your beloved and
his manager will thank us for buting in, or do what we sugest?"
Again I drew myself to my full heighth.
"I am a person of iron will when my mind is made up," I said. "You think
of somthing, Carter, and I'll see that it is done."
He gazed at me in a rapt manner.
"Dammed if I don't beleive you," he said.
It is now late at night. Beresford has gone. The house is still. I take
the dear Picture out from under my mattress and look at it.
Oh Adrien, my Thespian, my Love.
JANUARY 21ST. I have a bad cold, Dear Dairy, and feel rotten.
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