The sensation struck Henry, full face, in the barber shop, Schütz and Schwartz's, whither he went from Stanley's. Professor Hennis, of the English department at the university, met him at the door and insisted on shaking hands. 'These sketches of yours, Calverly--the two I have read--are remarkable. There is a freshness of characterisation that suggests Chaucer to me. Sunbury will live to be proud of you.' This left Henry red and mumbling, rather dumbfounded. Then, in the chair, Bill Schwartz--fat, exuberant--said, bending over him:-- 'Well, how does it feel to be famous, Henry?' And added, 'You've got 'em excited along the street here. Henry Berger says Charlie Waterhouse'll punch your head before night. Says he'll have to. Can't sue very well.' It was after this and a few other evidences of the stir he was causing that Henry, as Humphrey had done a half-hour earlier, went prowling. He watched and followed the bellowing newsmen. He observed the lively scene at the depot when the nine-three train pulled out, from the cluttered-up window of Murphy's cigar store. Then, keeping off Simpson Street, which was by this time crowded with the Saturday morning shopping, he slipped around Hemple's corner and up the stairs. McGibbon sat alone in the front office--coat off, vest open, longish hair tousled, a lock straggling down across his high forehead, eyes strained and staring. He was deep in his swivel chair; long legs stretched out under the desk, smoking a five-cent cigar, hands deep in pockets. He greeted Henry with a wry, thin-lipped smile, and waved his cigar. 'Great days!' he remarked dryly. 'Gee!' Henry dropped into a chair, laid his bamboo stick on the table, mopped a glistening face. 'Gee! You do know how to get'em going!' The cigar waved again. 'Sure! Stir'em up! Soak it to'em! Only way.' 'Everybody's buying it.' 'Rather! You're a hit, son!' 'Oh, I don't know's I'd say that.' 'Rats! You're a knockout. Never been anything like it. Two months of it and they'd be throwing your name around in Union Square, N.Y. If we only had the two months.' He sighed. 'Why!' Henry, all nerves, caught his expression. 'What's the matter?' 'We're-out of paper.' 'You mean to print on?' A nod. 'And we're out of money to buy more.' 'But with this big sale--' 'Costing four 'n' one-half times what we take in.' 'But I don't see----' 'Don't you? That's business, Hen. That's this world. You pour your money in--whip up your sales--drive, drive, _drive!_ After a while it goes of itself and you get your money back. Scads of it. You're rich. That's the way with every young business. Takes nerve I tell you, and vision! Why, I know stories of the early days of--look here, what we need is money. Got to have it. Right now, while they're on the run. If we can't get it, and get it quick, well'--he reached deliberately forward, picked up a copy of the _Gleaner_ and waved it high--'that--that, my son, is the last copy of the _Gleaner!_'