Please, please forgive me and come back to us. I am so temperamental. I am sorry.
Imperia turned on her charm and playfully regarded the playwright with her most enchanting smile.
I am going back to New York, Ambrose repeated doggedly, adding emphatically, on the next train.
You're going . . . ? Quite unexpectedly, Jack interrupted himself and began to smile. . . . Ambrose, he inquired, have you still got that paper you showed me in your pocket?
The playwright fumbled in his coat and drew out the Griesheimer contract.
Good! cried Jack, as he handed his friend a fountain pen. Now you sign that or I'll have you arrested myself.
He spoke with so much force that Ambrose, tired of argument, tired of adventure, tired of everything, automatically opened the contract and signed his name on the proper line.
Taking the paper, Jack turned to the sheriff.
Now Ed, he ordered, you sign your name where it says witnessed by.
The sheriff obeyed and Jack made the document legal by adding his own signature.
Waving the contract in the faces of the now
