“Oh, literature? Does literature pay?”
“Not in itself, not for many,” and Philip forced a laugh. “But it led to a situation in a first-rate publishing house—an apprenticeship that has now given me a position that seems to be permanent, with prospects beyond, and a very fair salary. It would not seem much to you, Mr. Mavick,” and Philip tried to laugh again.
“I don't know,” replied Mr. Mavick. “If a fellow has any sort of salary these times, I should advise him to hold on to it. By-the-way, Mr. Burnett, Hunt's a Republican, isn't he?”
“He was,” replied Philip, “the last I knew.”
“Do you happen to know whether he knows Bilbrick, the present Collector?”
“Mr. Bilbrick used to be a client of his.”
“Just so. I think I'll see Hunt. A salary isn't a bad thing for a—for a man who has retired pretty much from business. But you were saying, Mr. Burnett?”
“I was going to say, Mr. Mavick, that there was a little something more than my salary that I can count on pretty regularly now from the magazines, and I have had another story, a novel, accepted, and—you won't think me vain—the publisher says it will go; if it doesn't have a big sale he will—”
“Make it up to you?”
“Not exactly,” and Philip laughed; “he will be greatly mistaken.”