"Your goose," he pronounced, "is not fledged; but there may be a fringe of swan feathers. Bring him to see me." "I haven't the faintest idea of who, what, or where he is," answered the insistent critic. "Then hire a detective at our expense," smiled the editor. "And, please, as you go, can't you lure away with you Mr. Harvey Wheelwright, our most popular novelist, now in the reception-room wishing us to publish his latest enormity? Us!" concluded the Great Gaines sufficiently. Having related the episode to its subject, Miss Westlake said diffidently: "Do you think it was inexcusably impertinent of me?" "No. I think it was very kind." "Then you'll go to see Mr. Gaines?" "One of these days. When I get out of this present scrape. And I hope you'll keep on copying my Sunday stuff after I leave. Nobody else would be so patient with my dreadful handwriting." She gave him a glance and a little flush of thankfulness. Matters had begun to improve with Miss Westlake. But it was due to Banneker that she had won through her time of desperation. Now, through his suggestion, she was writing successfully, quarter and half column "general interest" articles for the Woman's Page of the Sunday Ledger. If she could in turn help Banneker to recognition, part of her debt would be paid. As for him, he was interested in, but not greatly expectant of, the Gaines invitation. Still, if he were cast adrift from The Ledger because of activity in the coming police inquiry, there was a possible port in the magazine world. Meantime there pressed the question of a home. Cressey ought to afford help on that. He called the gilded youth on the telephone. "Hello, old fire-eater!" cried Cressey. "Some little hero, aren't you! Bully work, my boy. I'm proud to know you.... What; quarters? Easiest thing you know. I've got the very thing--just like a real-estate agent. Let's see; this is your Monday at Sherry's, isn't it? All right. I'll meet you there." Providentially, as it might appear, a friend of Cressey's, having secured a diplomatic appointment, was giving up his bachelor apartment in the select and central Regalton. "Cheap as dirt," said the enthusiastic Cressey, beaming at Banneker over his cocktail that evening. "Two rooms and bath; fully furnished, and you can get it for eighteen hundred a year." "Quite a raise from the five dollars a week I've been paying," smiled Banneker. "Pshaw! You've got to live up to your new reputation. You're somebody, now, Banneker. All New York is talking about you. Why, I'm afraid to say I know you for fear they'll think I'm bragging." "All of which doesn't increase my income," pointed out the other. "It will. Just wait. One way or another you'll capitalize that reputation. That's the way New York is." "That isn't the way _I_ am, however. I'll capitalize my brains and ability, if I've got 'em; not my gun-play."