'I'm going to tie him up, all right. I'd go the limit. Twenty-five a week, minimum, for three years. That's agreed... How're you fixed, Calverly? Want any money now?' Henry looked again at his cool, accomplished host. 'Yes. Better advance a little. He could use it. Couldn't you, Calverly?' 'Why---why----' 'What do you say to five hundred. That'd clinch the bargain. Here--wait!' He produced a pocket cheque-book and a fountain pen, and wrote out the cheque. 'Here you are, Calverly. That'd take care of you for the present. Mustn't forget to send the stub to Miss Peters to-morrow. You'd better go now. Go home. Get a good night's sleep. And watch that stomach. Cereal's good, at your age. But cut out the orange.... I'm going to bed, Merchant. Been travelling hard. Tired out myself.... Calverly, I'll send you the contract from New York.' 'First, though'--this from Mr Merchant--'I think you'd better write a letter--here, to-night--confirming the arrangement. You and I can do that. We'll let Mr Calverly go.' Mr Galbraith didn't say good-night. Henry thought he was about to, and stood up, expectantly; but the little man suddenly dropped his eyes; looked hurriedly about; muttered--'Where'd I lay that fountain pen?'--found it; and rushed off down the hall, trailing the clippings behind him. Out in the hall, Mr Merchant pulled the door to. 'Calverly,' he said, 'I congratulate you. And I shall congratulate Galbraith.' Henry looked at him out of wan eyes. Then suddenly he giggled aloud. 'I know how you feel,' said the older man kindly. 'It is pleasant to succeed.' 'I felt a little bad about--you know, what you said about making him write that letter. He might think I----' 'Don't you worry about that. I'll have the letter for you in the morning. I'm going to pin him right to it. He'll never get out of this.' 'You--you don't mean that he'd--he'd----' 'Oh, he might forget it.' 'Nor after he _promised!_' 'Galbraith's a genius. He gets excited. Over-cerebrates at times. Sometimes he offers young fellows more than he can deliver. Then he wakes up to it and takes a sudden trip to Europe.' 'He acts very strange,' said Henry critically. 'I wonder if all geniuses are that way.' 'They're apt to be queer. But never forget that he's a real one. No matter how mad he may seem to you, no matter how irresponsible, Galbraith is a great editor. He is wild about you. When he said he'd make you, I believe he meant it. And I believe he'll do it. You're on the high road now, Calverly. Through a lucky accident. But that's how most men hit the high road. They happen to be where it is. They stumble on it. Within a year you'll be known everywhere.... Well, good-night!' 6