"The book hangs fire," said Mr. Waterbury when Van Buren called upon him at his Boston office to inquire how things were going. "We printed five hundred copies, and this morning's report shows two hundred and thirty still on hand. A hundred and sixty were sent for review." "I wish they hadn't been," said Van Buren, with a rueful smile. "They have provided just one hundred and sixty separate pieces of fuel for the critics to roast me with. Have there been any favorable reviews of the book?" "None that I have seen--but don't you worry about that," replied Mr. Waterbury comfortingly. "It's the counting-room, not the critics, that tell the story. Something may happen yet to pull us out." "What, for instance?" asked Van Buren "Oh, I don't know," said Waterbury. "You might do something sensational and get it in the papers. That would help. It's up to you, Mr. Van Buren." "I guess I'm all in," said Van Buren to himself as he walked down Tremont Street. "Up to me to do something--by Jove!" he interrupted himself abruptly. He had suddenly espied a copy of "The City of Credit" in a shop window. "Up to me, is it? Well, I think I shall rise to the occasion and not by doing anything sensational either." He entered the shop. "I want six copies of 'The City of Credit,'" he said quietly to the salesman. "It's a first-class story. Much of a demand for it?" "No," said the salesman. "We have only the window copy, and we've had that over a month. I can get them for you, however." "All right," said Van Buren. "Just send them to Charles H. Harney, The Helicon Club, New York. I'll pay for them now." Van Buren paid his bill, and, returning to the street, hailed a hansom. "Take me to some good book-shop," he said to the cabby. Instanter he was whirled around into Winter Street, where stands one of Boston's most famous literary distributing centers. "Have you 'The City of Credit'?" he asked the salesman. "I think we have a copy in stock," replied the latter. "If we haven't, we can get it for you." "Do so, please," said Van Buren. "I want a dozen copies--send them by express to Charles H. Harney, The Helicon Club, New York. How much?" "It's a dollar and a half book, I think," said the clerk. "The discount will make it $1.20--a dozen, did you say? Twenty-five cents expressage--that will make it $14.65." Van Buren paid up without a whimper. Once in the hansom again, he called up through the little hole in the top. "Isn't there any other book-shop in town where I can get what I want?" he demanded. "There's a dozen of 'em," replied the cabby. "Then go to them all," said Van Buren. That night when Van Buren started for New York he had purchased a hundred and fifty copies of "The City of Credit," and had ordered them all to be addressed to the clerk at the Helicon Club, with whom, upon his arrival in town, he arranged for their immediate reshipment to the Harrison Safety Deposit Storage Company on Forty-second Street.