The ensuing week was the toughest in his life not even a moment to make a pass at Katherine Hodge. Gradually with many creaks, his battered hulk got in motion. Benzedrine and great drafts of coffee woke him in the morning, whiskey anesthetized him at night. Into his feet crept an old neuritis and as his nerves began to crackle he developed a hatred against Reneacute; Wilcox, which served him as a sort of ersatz fuel. He was going to finish the script by himself and hand it to Berners with the statement that Wilcox had not contributed a single line. But it was too much Pat was too far gone. He blew up when he was half through and went on a twenty-four-hour bat and next morning arrived back at the studio to find a message that Mr. Berners wanted to see the script at four. Pat was in a sick and confused state when his door opened and Reneacute; Wilcox came in with a typescript in one hand, and a copy of Berners note in the other.
