with his open palm upon his knee for emphasis: "Nothing's the
matter with it, I tell you! I simply won't play it!"

"Why not?"

"I simply won't play it! I don't like it!"

The playwright dropped into a chair, open-mouthed. "Will you
tell me why you ever accepted it?"

"I don't like any play! I hate 'em all! I'm through with 'em
all! I'm through with the whole business! 'Show-business!'
Faugh!"

Old Tinker regarded him thoughtfully, then inquired: "Gone back
on it?"

"I tell you I'm going to buy a farm!" He sprang up, went to the
mantel and struck it a startling blow with his fist, which
appeared to calm him somewhat--for a moment. "I've been thinking
of it for a long time. I ought never to have been in this
business at all, and I'm going to live in the country. Oh, I'm
in my right mind!" He paused to glare indignantly in response to
old Tinker's steady gaze. "Of course you think 'something's
happened' to upset me. Well, nothing has. Nothing of the
slightest consequence has occurred since I saw you at rehearsal.
Can't a man be allowed to think? I just came home here and got
to thinking of the kind of life I lead--and I decided that I'm
tired of it. And I'm not going to lead it any longer. That's
all."