Lindsay stopped his typewriting again. This time he stared fixedly at Washington Square. His eyes followed a pink-smocked, bob-haired maiden hurrying across the Park; but apparently she did not register. He turned abruptly with a--"Hello, old top, what do you want?" The doorway, being empty, made no answer. Having apparently forgotten his remark the instant it was dropped, Lindsay went on writing. "I admit I'm thinking over that proposition. Among my things in storage here, I have all Lutetia's works, including those unsuccessful and very rare pomes of hers; even that blooming thesis I wrote. The thesis would, of course, read rotten now, but it might provide data that would save research. When do you propose to bring out this new edition, and how do you account for that recent demand for her? Of course it establishes me as some swell prophet. I always said she'd bob up again, you know. Then it looked as though she was as dead as the dodo. It isn't the work alone that appeals to me; it's doing it in Lutetia's own town, which is apparently the exact kind of dead little burg I'm looking for--Quinanog, isn't it? Come to think of it, Spink, my favorite occupation at this moment would be making daisy-chains or oak-wreaths. I'll think it..." He jumped spasmodically; jerked his head about; glanced over his shoulder at the doorway-- "What I'd really like to do, is the biography of Lutetia for about one month; then--for about three months--my experiences at the war which, I understand, are to be put away in the manuscript safe of the publishing firm of Dunbar, Cabot and Elsingham to be published when the demand for war stuff begins again. That, I reckon, is what I should do if I'm going to do it at all. Write it while it's fresh--as I'm not a professional. But I can't at this moment say yes, and I can't say no. I'd like to stay a little longer in New York. I'd like to renew acquaintance with the old burg. I can afford to thrash round a bit, you know, if I like. There's ten thousand dollars that my uncle left me, in the bank waiting me. When that's spent, of course I'll have to go to work. "You ask me for my impressions of America--as a returned sky-warrior. Of course I've only been here a week and I haven't talked with so very many people yet. But everybody is remarkably omniscient. I can't tell them anything about the late war. Sometimes they ask me a question, but they never listen to my answer. No, I listen to them. And they're very informing, believe me. Most of them think that the cavalry won the war and that we went over the top to the sound of fife and drum. For myself..."