Later, when Rachel was in the kitchen with the dishes, Olive left the sitting room and reappeared with triumph written large upon her face. In one hand she held a mysterious envelope and in the other a book. Albert recognized that book. It was his own, The Lances of Dawn. It was no novelty to him. When first the outside world and he had reopened communication, copies of that book had been sent him. His publisher had sent them, Madeline had sent them, his grandparents had sent them, comrades had sent them, nurses and doctors and newspaper men had brought them. No, The Lances of Dawn was not a novelty to its author. But he wondered what was in the envelope. Mrs. Snow enlightened him. “You sit right down now, Albert,” she said. “Sit right down and listen because I've got somethin' to tell you. Yes, and somethin' to show you, too. Here! Stop now, Zelotes! You can't run away. You've got to sit down and look on and listen, too.” Captain Zelotes smiled resignedly. There was, or so it seemed to his grandson, an odd expression on his face. He looked pleased, but not altogether pleased. However, he obeyed his wife's orders and sat. “Stop, look and listen,” he observed. “Mother, you sound like a railroad crossin'. All right, here I am. Al, the society of 'What did I tell you' is goin' to have a meetin'.” His wife nodded. “Well,” she said, triumphantly, “what DID I tell you? Wasn't I right?” The captain pulled his beard and nodded. “Right as right could be, Mother,” he admitted. “Your figgers was a few hundred thousand out of the way, maybe, but barrin' that you was perfectly right.” “Well, I'm glad to hear you say so for once in your life. Albert,” holding up the envelope, “do you know what this is?” Albert, much puzzled, admitted that he did not. His grandmother put down the book, opened the envelope and took from it a slip of paper. “And can you guess what THIS is?” she asked. Albert could not guess. “It's a check, that's what it is. It's the first six months' royalties, that's what they call 'em, on that beautiful book of yours. And how much do you suppose 'tis?” Albert shook his head. “Twenty-five dollars?” he suggested jokingly. “Twenty-five dollars! It's over twenty-five HUNDRED dollars. It's twenty-eight hundred and forty-three dollars and sixty-five cents, that's what it is. Think of it! Almost three thousand dollars! And Zelotes prophesied that 'twouldn't be more than--” Her husband held up his hand. “Sh-sh! Sh-sh, Mother,” he said. “Don't get started on what I prophesied or we won't be through till doomsday. I'll give in right off that I'm the worst prophet since the feller that h'isted the 'Fair and Dry' signal the day afore Noah's flood begun. You see,” he explained, turning to Albert, “your grandma figgered out that you'd probably clear about half a million on that book of poetry, Al. I cal'lated 'twan't likely to be much more'n a couple of hundred thousand, so--” “Why, Zelotes Snow! You said--”