“_The Truffler!_” The words burst from his lips; so loud that he tiptoed to the door and listened. “_The Truffler_,” he repeated. “_The Trifler_--no _The Truffler_.” He was riding high, far above all worldly irritations, tolerant even toward the little person, Sue Wilde, who had momentarily annoyed him. “I had to be stirred,” he thought, “that was all. Something had to happen to rouse me and set my creative self working. New people had to come into my life to freshen me. It did happen; they did come, and now I an myself again. I shall not have time for them now, these selfish bachelor women and there self-styled Jew geniuses. But still I am grateful to them all. They have helped me.” He dropped into the chair by the desk, pulled out his manuscript from a drawer and fell to work. It was five in the morning before he crept into bed. Four days later, his eyes sunken perceptibly, face drawn, color off, Peter sat for two hours within a cramped disorderly office, reading aloud to a Broadway theatrical manager who wore his hat tipped down over his eyes, kept his feet on the mahogany desk, smoked panatelas end on end and who, like Peter, was deeply conservative where women were concerned. At five-thirty on this same afternoon, Peter, triumphant, acting on a wholly unconsidered impulse, rushed around the corner of Broadway and Forty-second Street and into the telephone room of a glittering hotel. He found Betty Deane's name in the telephone book, and called up the apartment. A feminine voice sounded in his ear. He thought it was Sue Wilde. It _was_ Sue Wilde. He asked if she could not dine with him. There was a long silence at the other end of the wire. “Are you there?” he called anxiously. “Hello! Hello!” “Yes, I'm here,” came the voice. “You rather surprised me, Mr. Mann. I have an engagement for this evening.” “Oh, then I can't see you!” “I have an engagement.” He tried desperately to think up conversation; but failed. “Well,” he said--“_good-by_.” “Good-by.” That was all. Peter ate alone, still overstrung but gloomy now, in the glittering hotel. The dinner, however, was both well-cooked and hot. It tended to soothe and soften him. Finally, expansive again, he leaned hack, fingered his coffee cup, smoked a twenty-cent cigar and observed the life about him.