Douglas murmured an inarticulate assent, and Rice departed. Then he looked up at the man who so far had only bidden him a mechanical good morning, and wondered a little at the heavy frown upon his face. Perhaps his introduction had been a little unceremonious, but surely he could not be blamed for that. Drexley pulled himself together. The thing was awkward, but it must be faced. "You have come to see us about your story, I suppose, Mr. Jesson?" he began. "A very fair story indeed for a beginner, as I suppose you are. I am hoping that some day we may be able to make use of it for the _Ibex_." Douglas looked up quickly. "I understood Mr. Rice that you were using it in the next issue of the magazine," he said. "The next issue!" Drexley shook his head. "I am afraid that is quite out of the question," he said. "You see our arrangements are all made a very long time ahead, and we have short stories enough on hand now to last us nearly two years. Of course if you care to leave yours with us, I think I can promise you that it shall appear some time, but exactly when, I should not care to say. It would be quite impossible to fix a date." Douglas was bewildered--speechless. He did his best, however, to remain coherent. "Mr. Rice certainly told me," he said, "that it was in type and would appear at once. He seemed to think, too, that if I saw you you might give me some more work. I am living in London now, and I hoped that it might be possible for me to make some money by my pen." Drexley was silent for several moments. For the first time in his life he glanced across at the photograph which stood upon his table with something like impatience. "I am afraid that I cannot offer you much encouragement," he said. "If ever a market in the world was overcrowded, the literary market of to-day is in that state. If you like to leave your story it shall appear some time or other--I cannot promise when--and when we are able to use it we will pay you according to our usual standard. More I cannot say at present." Douglas rose up with a sense of sick disappointment at his heart, but with a firm determination also to carry himself like a man. "I am much obliged to you," he said. "I will think the matter over and let you know." Drexley watched the struggle. He, too, had been young, and he hated himself. "You had better leave us your address," he said. "We will let you know, then, if we see a chance of using more of your work." Douglas hesitated. "When I have an address," he said, "I will write to you. At present I have not made my arrangements in London." Drexley let him go, despising himself, with a vague feeling of irritation, too, against the beautiful face which smiled at him from his table. Douglas's one idea was to get out of the place. He had no wish to see Rice or any one. But on the landing he came face to face with the latter, who had not as yet gone into his room.