Miss Dobbs smiled at the frankness of her friend. Miss Press was noted throughout the length and the breadth of the Avenue for her habit of thinking aloud. Miss Zoe Bonser, who was eating a tea cake, also smiled. It was Sunday afternoon, and these three ladies were awaiting the arrival of Mr. Henry Harper in a rather speculative frame of mind. The previous Sunday Mr. Harper had not appeared. It was no longer possible to laugh at the mere name of Greased Lightning and to pull Cora's leg and chaff her unmercifully. It seemed that Miss Bonser, having mentioned casually to Mr. Albert Hobson that she had a friend who had a friend who knew a young fellow whose first serial was just beginning in _Brown's_, the admired Albert had inquired immediately: "What's the name of your young fellow?" "He's not my young fellow," said Zoe the cautious. "But his name's--Lord, I've forgotten it!" This was untrue. "But we all think he's potty." "His name is not Henry Harper, by any chance?" Miss Bonser nodded discreetly. She was a little surprised at the set of the wind. "But, of course, he's barmy." "Whatever he is, he's no slouch," said the judicial Mr. Hobson. He himself was no slouch either, in spite of the company which in hours of ease he affected. "He'll go far. He's another Stevenson and with luck one of these days he might be something bigger." "Don't care if he's a John Roberts or a Dawson," said Zoe; "he's not fit to be out without his nurse." If the latter part of Mr. Hobson's statement had meant little to that astute mind, the first part meant a good deal. Miss Bonser bore the news to King John's Mansions on the following Sunday afternoon. It made quite a sensation. Bert Hobson was the nearest thing to "the goods" which had yet impinged on that refined circle. He was something more than the average harmless fool about town; in the opinion of Miss Dobbs and Miss Press, he knew his way about; and if Albert had really said that Harry was the coming man, he could not have such a great distance to travel. "I hope he is not going to give us a miss in baulk now he's got there. That'll be swank if he does, won't it, Bonser?" Miss Press winked at Miss Bonser in a serio-comic manner. "It will, Press," said that lady. "He'll come. You'll see," said Miss Dobbs, with reasoned optimism. "He's here now." In fact, at that moment a mild assault was being delivered by the decrepit knocker on a faintly responsive front door. "What was the check that _Brown's_ gave him?" Miss Press asked Miss Bonser, as Miss Dobbs went forth to receive her guest. "Three hundred--so she says." "Do you believe it?" "Why not?" "But he's barmy." "All these writing men are." "Except Bert." "Oh, he's barmy in a way, else he wouldn't have taken up with me." "Yes, that's true, dear. But did he say that about It?" "Ye-es." "Well, it's time she had a bit of luck ... if she's really going to have it. She wants it badly." "Yes, by God."