Of my own volition I began to type....
The alarm clock went off at nine the next morning and Halmer came grudgingly, stiffly awake. His eyes were bloodshot; his reflexes were down. Presently he walked stiffly across the room, stopped in front of me and gazed at the title I'd written—"The Brave Die Hard"—not brilliant but a change from the title used originally on the story.
The author's name that I had typed below the title made no impression on Halmer at all. He had been so sleep-dazed the night before that I was gambling on his being vague about details.
"Of course!" he muttered. "Fell asleep thinking I hadn't doped out a title! I guess I was too tired to register.... But it's a pretty good title considering the state I was in...."
Hurriedly he gathered up the typescript, attached a clip, put the story in a manila envelope, and dashed off to see his editor.
Now I had but to wait....
A half hour before noon Halmer returned, his face haggard with fatigue, but his gray eyes alight with arrogance. After two stiff shots of brandy, he bent over me, waving before my type-eyes a publisher's check for two hundred and fifty dollars.
"See?" he sneered. "They raised my rate. At last I'm on my way! Tomorrow I'll trade you in on a new machine, move out of this crummy garret...."
He had another drink, then stretched out on his cot and was soon asleep.
I waited....