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back in triumph. Then some of the big producers here will listen to me. I’ve got to do it, Amos. I’ve got to do it.”
    Amos drew a deep breath and said, “You’ll do what you say you’ll do, Lylah. You always have.”
    â€œDon’t hate me, Amos,” she said. “You can’t hate me. I won’t let you.”
    Amos smiled. “No, I’ll never hate you, Lylah. We Stuarts have to stick together.” He reached over and clasped her hand warmly. “This country…no, this world …is never going to be the same again. But you and I and all the rest of the Stuarts have got to stick together!”

4
“T HE L IGHTS A RE G OING O UT !”
    T he dock at New York Harbor was packed with hustling, bustling people, and as Amos and Lylah stood at the rail looking down, the huge British liner, Hartford, uttered three short, raucous blasts.
    â€œWell,” Amos said reluctantly, looking at Lylah, “that means I’ve got to go.” He threw his arms around her, and she clung to him almost fiercely, then stepped back.
    â€œI’ll be all right, Amos,” she said, trying to smile. “Don’t worry about me.” They had made the trip back from Arkansas to New York in record time, but now that she was ready to leave America, somehow it didn’t seem right. But Lylah was a woman who had determination to the bone, and now with all her skills at acting, found it possible to smile and say, “I’ll come back the toast of Europe. You’ll have to have an appointment to interview me, Amos!”
    A smile pulled at Amos’s lips, but he was worried. “You know,” he said finally, “the Germans are torpedoing passenger ships, and this is an English ship at that. I wish you’d wait and go on an American ship at least. You can meet your troupe over there later.”
    â€œNo, I’ll travel with the others. We’ll be all right.” She felt her throat constrict and knew that if he didn’t go soon, she wouldn’t be able to control the tears that welled up in her. She leaned forward, kissed him, then slapped him on the chest. “Get out of here, you old newshound, you! I’ll be back before you know it!”
    Amos said quietly, “I pray that God will watch over you, Lylah.” Then he turned and squeezed between the throngs lining the deck of the Hartford .
    When he had made his way down the gangplank, he turned and looked up to find her watching him. She lifted her hand and waved. He waved back. Somehow, even though she was surrounded by other passengers, and even though she was traveling with a troupe of her fellow actors, his sister looked very lonely, very isolated, almost alien, standing there on the crowded deck of the huge ship. He waited until the ship began to move and then watched Lylah’s figure grow smaller as the liner picked up speed and finally disappeared.
    Amos threaded his way through the crowd moving toward the parking lot. He drove at once to downtown New York, weaving expertly through traffic composed of horse-drawn cabs and loud automobiles, finally arriving at the offices of the New York Journal , the creation of William Randolph Hearst. Amos parked the car, entered the building, and walked rapidly to the office of the editor.
    â€œHey, Amos! You’re late. Better get in there,” said one of his fellow reporters—a tall, gangly man named Stevens. “The old man’s having a genuine fit. I think you’re his raw meat for the day.”
    Amos grinned, waved his hand at Stevens, and entered Hearst’s outer office. The receptionist, a short woman with gray hair, stared at him with obvious disapproval. “It’s about time. He said for you to come in as soon as you got here.”
    As Amos went in, he heard the secretary announcing him on the intercom: “Mr. Stuart is here, Mr. Hearst.”
    Amos entered the office of William Randolph Hearst and