It was curious to see the extra animation that came into Sibthorp’s face at her question. Tennis had left him cold, but the mention of the works of Sibthorp roused him. It is the fashion to laugh at this tendency in writers, but I have a dim suspicion that the engineer is roused to greater interest at mention of some engineering problem he has solved, than he is at the ordinary topics of the day, and so it is with all. “Had something accepted last week,” said he. “It had been everywhere, and if it had come back again, I would have burned it up, but the _Atlantic_ took it, and the only reason I didn’t send there at first was because I thought it wasn’t good enough.” “How proud we must be.” “Well, it’s funny, but as soon as the _Atlantic_ took it, I went and got my carbon copy and read it, and I thought it was pretty good, and when it had come back time before, I had read it, and thought it was rotten.” “And when it’s printed, there’ll be as many opinions of it as it has readers. But you’re progressing if the _Atlantic_ takes you up. Doesn’t it make you feel sorry to see the goal?” “No, sir. _Now_ I won’t be happy until I’ve written a serial for the _Atlantic_, or some one of the big magazines.” “Is that the way it works?” laughed Cherry. “The more one gets, the more one wants?” “That’s the way ambition is built up,” said I, “acceptance by acceptance.” “What a place to work in this must be,” said Sibthorp, as he allowed Ethel to replenish his plate. Cherry laughed. “Yes, you ought to see the way Mr. Vernon works. A poem in the morning, a short story in the afternoon, and an essay in the evening.” Sibthorp turned his glowing eyes on me. “Good boy. Are you really working?” “Miss Paxton sees fit to jest,” said I. “I’m afraid I haven’t done as much as I might.” “You couldn’t do less, Philip, seeing you haven’t done a thing since you came up,” said Ethel. “All the better for winter. But don’t let my example influence you, Sibthorp. I’ll turn you loose with pens and paper, or my typewriter, and you can enrich the literature of this country every minute, if you want to. Only, if you take my advice, you’ll give _literachure_ the go by, and stay out doors for a week or so.” “I’ll work out doors, but I must work,” said he, his eyes shining. Ethel laughed. “A night up here will cure that. You’ll be content to loll by to-morrow.” “Why, I wrote on the way up,” said he. “Really!” said Cherry. “What did you do with it? Hand it to the conductor by mistake, for your ticket?” she added saucily.