“An author’s characters grow into life out of his observation and experience. Once they are conceived by these two parents their first heart beats are the taps of the author’s typewriter.” Good. “Gradually they grow into living men and women. They live with him, yet with a life of their own. In writing The Sand Bar I ... I....”
(This makes him hesitate to continue. He glances toward the manuscript of The Lonely Way. He rises slowly and picks it up cynically. Then, as though fascinated, he gradually settles in the cozy chair by his table. He begins to become absorbed as he reads his earlier play. He puts his hand over his eyes, he lowers the manuscript, gives a sigh as though lost in the thoughts it calls up. The door, which he has locked, opens noiselessly, and closes as Grant looks up in surprise and sees a man enter.
Grant immediately discovers there is something extraordinary about his unexpected visitor. As he directs the light upon him, Grant perceives the man’s power which lies both in his frame and impressive personality. His eyes have a relentless coldness when they narrow. His mouth is firm but cruel, with a sarcastic droop pulling down the corners. In spite of an occasional uncouth manner of spasmodically blurting out his words, Grant soon realizes how keen is the intruder’s penetration when it is sharpened to the one point which vitally concerns him—his art. For this man of fifty-five winters, is a great artist. Grant is too amazed and puzzled to recognize it is one of his own creations: Tom Robinson.
The latter comes over to the dramatist and places a hand on his shoulder.)
Tom
You and I have some scores to settle.
Grant
(Moving away)
Who are you?
Tom