"Sit down just opposite me, and look at me. I am going to write. The editor of the Cynosure begs for twenty lines—no more; twenty lines—fifty pounds! Now, Nellie, inspire me, and you shall have a new hat out of it. No, look at me!"
Nellie sat down and gazed at him, obediently.
"Two pound ten a line; not bad for a young 'un," he pursued. "They say Byron wrote on gin and water. I write on your eyes, Nellie—much better."
"You're not writing at all—only talking nonsense."
"I'm just beginning."
"Look here, Dale, why don't you keep the Doctor——" began Philip.
"Oh, hang the Doctor! I'd just got an idea. Look at me, Nellie!"
Philip shrugged his shoulders, and Dr. Roberts dropped out of discussion.
The twenty lines were written, though they were never considered one of his masterpieces, then Dale rose with a sigh of relief.
"Now for lunch, and then I'm going to return Mr. Delane's call."