“What if that strange street-person were never to return to us?” the old man was moved to ask in his despair on the evening of the sixth day. “Ah, thou dost not know that brave and faithful one, my father,” said the dying poet. “He will overcome fire and the sword rather than his ministry should fail in these last hours of our necessity.” And on the evening of the seventh day there came a gentle tapping upon the shutters of the shop. With a cry of eagerness the old man opened the door in response, and the forlorn figure of Dodson was seen upon the threshold, his face all drawn with suffering. “Welcome, welcome,” cried the old man in tones that were thin and overwrought. “Have you brought back the printed book?” Dodson recoiled from the old man in a kind of harsh rage. He laid one hand upon his coat, and said in a morose whisper, “You will have to know the truth!” “The truth,” said the old man, with an unsuspectingness which seemed to exasperate the man from the street. “The truth! Why fear to tell it?” “The truth is this,” said Dodson. “There is not a publisher in London who would print poor Luney’s poem.” The old man fell back against the door of the shop with a little cry. “But--but the first mind of the age lies at the point of dissolution!” he exclaimed. “They owe it to themselves that they cherish its fruits. Do they not know that death itself respects his labours, and awaits some token of homage from those for whom he wrought?” “Yes, yes,” said Jimmy Dodson mournfully. “I know all that, my good old man; I have heard it all before; but you and I must not be high-flown. We must look the facts in the face. We must deal with things as they are. A week ago I carried it to Octavius--Octavius, you know, is the head of our firm, which is the chief, in fact the _only_ publishing house in London, and therefore, you know, in the world. Well, as soon as Octavius saw the first page he said, ‘I am afraid, Mr. Dodson, this will never do,’ I am giving you the precise words he used; it is no use for you and me to deceive ourselves, is it?” “Oh, oh,” said the old man incredulously. “But that is the verdict of only one man, a single street-person, an ignorant man who is neither gentle nor simple.”