|SUE felt that the woman was about to speak, and suddenly she knew that she could not listen. Fighting down the rather terrifying force of her emotions, fighting tears even, she rushed to the door, mutely brushed Mrs. Wilde aside and ran down the stairs. Sue let herself out on the front porch, closed the screen door and leaned hack against it, clinging to the knob, breathless, unstrung. The eyes of the Street would be on her, of course. She thought of this and dropped into one of the porch chairs. A man turned the corner--a tall, rather young man who wore a shapeless suit of gray, a limp collar, a flowing bow tie, a soft hat; and who had a trick of throwing his leg out and around as he walked and toeing in with the right font. He turned in, grinning cheerfully and waving a lean hand. He mounted the steps. Sue sat erect, gripping the arms of her chair, eyes bright, and laughed nervously. “Henry,” she cred, “you're hopeless! Where's the new suit? You're not a bit respectable.” He seated himself on the porch railing and gazed ruefully downward. “Sue, I'm sorry. Plum forgot. And I swore I'd never disgrace you again. I _am_ hopeless. You're right.” Then he laughed--irresponsibly, happily, like a boy. She stared at him. “What is it, Henry?” “Everything, child! You see before you the man who has just conquered the world. All of it. And no worlds left. Mr. Alexander H. Bates.” “Oh,” said she, thinking swiftly back--“your novel!” “Right. My novel.” “But it isn't finished, Henry.” “Not quite half done.” “Then, how can--” He raised a long hand and rose. He gazed down benignly at her. “The greatest publisher in these U. S. has had the good fortune to read the first fourteen chapters. A whisper blew to me yesterday of the way things were going--before I wrote you. But the word this morning was not a whisper. Susan. It was an ear-splitting yell. Mister Greatest Publisher personally sent for me. Told me he had been looking for me--exactly me!--these twenty-eight years. And here I am. Money now if I need it. And do I need it? God, do I need it! And fame later--when I get the book done. Now, child, tell me how glad you are. At once.” He walked the porch; came back and stood before her; grinned and grinned. She could not find words. Soberly her eyes followed him. Her set mouth softened. Her tightened muscles relaxed until she was leaning back limp in the chair. “Isn't it the devil, Sue!” said he. “The one thing my heart was set on was to wear that good suit. Sue, I was going to put it all over this suburb of yours--just smear 'em! And look--I have to go and forget. Nothing comes out to see you but the same disgraceful old gipsy. How could I?” Sue leaned forward. “Henry, I'm glad. I love this old suit. But there's a button coming loose--there, on your coat.” “I know, Sue. I sewed at it, but it doesn't hold. I'm meaning to stop at a tailor's, next time I'm over toward Sixth Avenue.”