enough to lose one's self in liquor, to perform astonishing feats of self-degradation, but in cold sober factual day, to know the truth was like meeting blundering bitterness, akin to despair.
"I'm making the Farraguts wait. I'm humiliating them."
"And yourself …"
"No. Nothing is truer than my wish that you should be happy—"
"Nice words," Ken mocked.
"Madman," gently chided Howard, "let me keep you sane."
To combine two moods in a perfect blend was Ken's avowed purpose. He would convert the subtle, sly, scheming Ken Gracey, whom Howard knew and dominated, into the searing, flaming Buddy Renault of Tia Juana and all points east. He would disgrace himself before Howard, get drunk, flaunt his vicious second self, destroy thus with one blow the illusion which Howard selfishly cherished. When this scene would first be played Ken did not know. He prayed that his opportunity would soon be at hand. Already his friends of the other world, the adoring Joe, malicious Frankie, diabolical Jules, were wagging busy tongues. To others, especially those in the road company of "Sweeter than Sweet," many obscure happenings must now seem clear. Howard, brilliant Howard, had been a slave to the dazzling Ken Gracey, they would repeat. Gossip would seep toward Broadway, into restaurants and night clubs, into the coulisses of theatres and the alleys where the unemployed idly exchanged scandalous news.
Howard, Ken believed, would be made the butt of ridicule. Sensitive Howard, kind Howard, whom he had really
