'He will, some day.' Humphrey rose. 'Will you send for him in the morning?' There was a long silence. Then a sound. Then:--'Tell him to come around.' 'Twelve a week, including this week?' The massive yellowish-gray head inclined slowly. 'Very well, I'll tell him.' 'You can leave the manuscript here, Weaver.' 'No.' Humphrey deliberately folded it and put it in an inside pocket. 'Henry will have to give it to you himself. It's his. Good-night.' Out on the street, Humphrey reflected, with a touch of exuberance rare in his life:-- 'We won't either of us be long on the _Voice_. Not now. But it's great going while it lasts.' And he wondered, with a little stir of excitement, just why that purse wasn't enough for Charlie Waterhouse... just what old Boice knew... Why it was a chance! Curious! Something back of it, something that McGibbon was eternally pounding at--hinting--insinuating. Something real there; something that might never be known. 10 Humphrey felt that the little triumph--though it might indeed prove temporary; any victory over old Boice in Sunbury affairs was likely to be that--called for celebrating in some special degree. He had, it seemed, a few bottles of beer at the rooms. So thither they adjourned; Mildred and Humphrey strolling slowly ahead, Corinne and Henry strolling still more slowly behind. Henry seemed fagged. At least he was quiet. Corinne, stirred with a sympathetic interest not common to her sort of nature, stole hesitant glances at him, even, finally, slipped her hand through his arm. She hung back. Mildred and Humphrey disappeared in the shadows of the maples a block ahead. 'I suppose you're pretty tired, aren't you?' Corinne murmured. Her voice seemed to waken him out of a dream. 'I--I--what was that? Oh--tired? Why, I don't know. Sorta.' Her hand slipped down his forearm, within easy reach of his hand; but he was unaware. 'I'm frightfully excited,' he said, brightening. 'If you knew what this meant to me! Feeling like this. The Power--but you wouldn't know what that meant. Only it lifts me up. I know I'm all right now. It's been an awful two years. You've no idea. Drudgery. Plugging along. But I'm up again now. I can do it any time I want. I'm free of this dam' town. They can't hold me back now.' 'You'll do big things,' she said, a mournful note in her voice. 'I know. I feel that.' And now she stopped short. In a shadow. 'What is it?' he asked casually. 'What's the matter?' She glanced at his face; then down. 'Do you think you'll write--a poem?' she asked almost sullenly. 'Maybe. I don't know. It's queer--you get all stirred up inside, and then something comes. You can't tell what it's going to be. It's as if it came from outside yourself. You know. Spooky.' She moved on now, bringing him with her. 'Mildred and Humphrey'll wonder where we are,' she said crossly.