He felt curiously sleepy, the world seemed far away; he knew he should get to Cap, but he didn't know how. He was sure, for he had done as he was told, hadn't he? Cap would find him and take care of him. So choosing a good tree, he clambered up into it, found a comfortable notch, and curled up in it to sleep, like the tousled bear he was, with his hands across his chest, as though surfeited with honey.

Violence always made him tired, but he was not frightened.

In Boston, Edwin Booth was winding up a performance of A New Way to Pay Old Debts. It was a part so familiar to him that he did not bother to think about it any more. Acting soothed him. On a stage he always knew what to do, and tonight, to judge by the applause, he must be doing it better than usual.

As Sir Giles Overreach (how often had he had to play that part, who did not believe a word of it), he raised his arm and declaimed: ``Where is my honour now?''

That was one of the high spots of the play. The audience, as usual, loved it. He was delighted to see them so happy. If he had any worries, it was only the small ones, about Mother in New York, and his daughter Edwina and what she might be doing at this hour, with her Aunt Asia, in Philadelphia.

Everyone is ambivalent about his profession, if he has practised it long enough, but there were still moments when he loved the stage and all those unseen people out there, who might cheer you or boo you, but that was largely, though not entirely, up to you.