Zanin entered the room, and the Worm quietly considered him. The man had a vision. And he had power--unhindered by the inhibitions of the Anglo-Saxon conscience, undisciplined by the Latin instinct for form, self-freed from the grim shackles of his own ancestry. He wore a wrinkled suit, cotton shirt with rolling collar, his old gray sweater in lieu of waistcoat. He drank three cups of tea, chatted restively, drummed with big fingers on the chair-arm and finally looked at his watch. The Worm knocked the ashes from his pipe and considered. Just what did Sue wish he would do? No use glancing at her for further orders, for now she was avoiding his glances. He decided to leave. Out on the sidewalk he stood for a moment hesitating between a sizable mess of those deep-sea bivalves at Jim's oyster bar and wandering back across Sixth Avenue and Washington Square to the rooms. It wasn't dinner time; but every hour is an hour with oysters, and Jim's was only a step. But then he knew that he didn't want to eat them alone. For one moment of pleasant self-forgetfulness he had pictured Sue sitting on the other side of the oysters. They went with Sue to-night, were dedicated to her. He considered this thought, becoming rather severe with himself, called it childish sentimentality; but he didn't go to Jim's. He went to the rooms. When he had gone Zanin hitched forward in his chair and fixed his eyes on Sue over his teacup. “What is it, Jacob?” she asked, not facing him. He wasted no words. “You know something of our business arrangements, Sue--Peter's and mine.” She nodded. “There's a complication. When we formed The Nature Film Company we had, as assets, my ideas and energy and Peters money and theatrical experience. And we had you, of course. You were vital--I built the whole idea around your personality.” “Yes, I know,” she broke in with a touch of impatience. “Peter stood ready to put in not more than four to five thousand dollars. That was his outside figure. He told me that it was nearly all he had--and anyway that he is living on his capital.” “I know all that,” said she. “Very good!” He put down his teacup and spread his hands in a sweeping gesture. “Now for the rest of it. Of course we had no organization or equipment, so we made the deal with the Interstellar people. They took a third interest. They supply studio, properties, camera men, the use of their New Jersey place and actors and hand us a bill every week. Naturally since we got to work with all our people on the outside locations, the bills have been heavy--last week and this--especially this. Before we get through they'll be heavier.” He drew a folded paper from his pocket; spread it out with a slap of a big hand; gave it to her. “Why, Jacob,” she faltered and caught her breath. “Eight hundred and--” He nodded. “It's running into regular money. And here we are! Peter has put in three thousand already.” “Three thousand!” “More--about thirty-two hundred.”