"Killed him, sir. Once he perished on the Matterhorn in a snow-storm. The next time he was killed in a railway accident in Canada. The last time he was lost in a wreck in the South Sea Islands. By this time every one was talking of him. I received no fewer than four hundred press cuttings the last time headed, 'A Famous Author Lost at Sea.' The name of Sampson E. Dodge became as famous as the President's. Of course, when his book came out every one rushed for it." "And was he really in Switzerland, Canada, or the South Seas?" "Certainly not. As safe as you are. Writing his book at a farmhouse in Vermont." "Do you often practise this method, Mr. Legion?" "Well, it must be applied judiciously, of course. Dodge writes adventure novels, so I give him adventures. But for quieter authors, you must invent something else. It used to be appendicitis, but that's nearly played out. Total loss of memory through overwork used to take, but I found that the authors objected to it. Double pneumonia in a lonely shack among the mountains, where he had gone to obtain local colour for his new novel, answers as well as anything else. And that reminds me--didn't you say Vickars had been ill?" "Yes, he nearly died. Typhoid fever from bad drains." "And didn't anybody write it up?" "Not that I ever heard of." "My! what a blunder! And with a new book coming out, too. I wish I could have had the handling of that 'story.'" "I don't think Vickars would have liked that." "No, I suppose not. You Britishers seem to be afraid of publicity. It almost amounts to a disease." "We are getting over it by degrees. I assure you there are British authors who are quite reconciled to the immodesty of newspaper puffs. But not men like Vickars. He is one of those who stand in proud silence, and is content to wait for his recognition." "Well, I guess he'll have to wait till there's skating in Hades. The standing apart business is all very well if you've got the dollars and don't care; but if you haven't, it means starvation." He rose from the table, and said, "Shall we go?" "Well, there's one thing I want to ask you first," said Arthur, "and as you haven't mentioned it, it seems I must. I want to know if you can put me in the way of earning my living in New York?" "But, my dear sir, I thought you were just travelling through for pleasure." "I was afraid that you were under that misconception, and I apologise for not undeceiving you sooner. The plain truth is, I have a very little money in my pocket, no particular experience of life, and my bread to earn." "Dear me!--dear me! That sounds serious." "It may easily become so." The older man looked gravely sympathetic. Suddenly, however, he brightened up, as though he had discovered the solution of the whole problem.