Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 5).djvu/246

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
245

"And they threw him out with my name on his lips. And I followed, and floored a brute who was handling him roughly. And nothing happened to me—because of what happened to Pharazyn!"


"He gave me this."

The dear old boy sat silent, his grey head on his hand. Presently he went on, more to himself than to me: "What could I do? What proof had I? He had burnt them every one. And as long as the public would stand him, Morrison kept his good name at least. And that play was his great success!"

I ventured gently to inquire what had happened to Pharazyn.

"He died on my arms," my old friend cried, throwing up his head with an oath and a tear. "He died in a few minutes, outside the theatre. I could hear them clapping after he was dead—clapping his piece."

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