Mr. Brandreth received him with a gayety that put this quite out of his mind; and he thought the publisher was going to tell him that he had decided, after all, to accept his novel. “Ah, Mr. Ray,” Mr. Brandreth called out at sight of him, “I was just sending a note to you! Sit down a moment, won’t you? The editor of _Every Evening_ was in here just now, and he happened to say he wished he knew some one who could make him a synopsis of a rather important book he’s had an advanced copy of from the other side. It’s likely to be of particular interest in connection with Coquelin’s visit; it’s a study of French comic acting from Molière down; and I happened to think of you. You know French?” “Why, yes, thank you--to read. You’re very kind, Mr. Brandreth, to think of me.” “Oh, not at all! I didn’t know whether you ever did the kind of thing the _Every Evening_ wants, or whether you were not too busy; but I thought I’d drop an anchor to windward for you, on the chance that you might like to do it.” “I should like very much to do it; and”-- “I’ll tell you why I did it,” Mr. Brandreth interrupted, radiantly. “I happened to know they’re making a change in the literary department of the _Every Evening_, and I thought that if this bit of work would let you show your hand--See?” “Yes; and I’m everlastingly”-- “Not at all, not at all!” Mr. Brandreth opened the letter he was holding, and gave Ray a note that it inclosed. “That’s an introduction to the editor of the _Every Evening_, and you’ll strike him at the office about now, if you’d like to see him.” Ray caught with rapture the hand Mr. Brandreth offered him. “I don’t know what to say to you, but I’m extremely obliged. I’ll go at once.” He started to the door, and turned. “I hope Mrs. Brandreth is well, and--and--the baby?” “Splendidly. I shall want to have you up there again as soon as we can manage it. Why haven’t you been at Mrs. Chapley’s? Didn’t you get her card?” “Yes; but I haven’t been very good company of late. I didn’t want to have it generally known.” “I understand. Well, now you must cheer up. Good-by, and good luck to you!” All the means of conveyance were too slow for Ray’s eagerness, and he walked. On his way down to that roaring and seething maelstrom of business, whose fierce currents swept all round the _Every Evening_ office, he painted his future as critic of the journal with minute detail; he had died chief owner and had his statue erected to his memory in Park Square before he crossed that space and plunged into one of the streets beyond.