She looked at him expectantly. Her voice and her manner had had a background of constraint, and David vaguely felt that her meaning was not in her words, but was lurking behind them. "Yes?" he said, wonderingly. The constraint was more marked as she continued, with an effort: "Perhaps you might get--five thousand dollars for it." "Yes?" he said, his wonderment rising. The constraint and effort were even greater as she replied: "Well, that would do so much toward clearing your name!" Her meaning leaped forth from its lurking place. For a moment he was completely stupefied.... She wanted him to repay the stolen money to St. Christopher's! He felt her eyes upon him, waiting. "Yes--it would help," he said, mechanically. They turned back. She saw he was far away. She did not speak. First came to him the absurdity of his trying to repay with his present earnings--fifty years of utmost saving. But he pressed down the bitter laugh that rose. She was right; if he was ever to clear his name he must refund the money to the Mission. Perhaps the book would repay it; perhaps years and years of work would be required. But repay it he must. There was no other way. He looked up as they paused again before her house. "Yes--I will repay," he said. She reached out her hand. Its grasp was warm, tight. "I knew it," she said, with a directness, a simplicity, that thrilled him. "I'm so glad!" CHAPTER VI JOHN ROGERS David flung himself at the story as though it were a city to be taken by storm. He was full of power, of creative fury. His long-disused pen at first was stubborn, but gradually he re-broke it to work; and he wrote with an ease, a surety of touch, a fire, that he had never felt before. He had half-a-dozen separate incentives, and the sum of these was a vast energy that drove him conqueringly through obstacle after obstacle of the story. These early days of the story were high days with him. He forgot, when writing, his basement room, his janitor's work, his dishonour. Infinity lay between the end of December and the end of January; in a month his spirits had risen from nadir to zenith. The world was his; nothing seemed beyond him. He even dared dream of passing Allen upon some mid-level and winning to the highest place in Helen Chambers's regard. The exhaustion of spirit at the end of each day's writing quenched this dream; but it was nevertheless enrapturing while it lasted, and at times David came near believing in it. David had asked both Rogers and the Mayor to aid him in securing Tom a _bona-fide_ position, and after the boy had been running the Pan-American Café for a month, a place was found. Tom's wages had been a heavy drain upon David's meagre income, and it was with a feeling of relief that David announced the coming change one night as they were preparing for bed. "I've got some great news for you, Tom," he began. "What's dat?" asked the boy, dropping the shoe he had just taken off.