The sub-editor sighed and drew a sheet of note-paper towards him. He wrote a few lines and put them in an envelope.
"There is a letter of introduction to a publisher," he explained.
"Frankly, I don't think it is worth the paper it is written on.
Nowadays, novels are published or not, either according to their merit
or the possibility of their appealing to the public taste."
Burton looked at the address.
"Thank you very much," he said. "I will take this in myself."
"When are you going to bring us something?" the sub-editor inquired.
"I am going home to try and write something now," Burton replied. "It is either that or the pawnshop."
The sub-editor nodded.
"Novels are all very well for amusement," he said, "but they don't bring in bread and cheese. Come right up to me as soon as you've got something."
Burton left his novel at the address which the sub-editor had given him, and went back to his lodgings. He let himself in with a latchkey. The caretaker of the floor bustled up to him as he turned towards the door of his room.
"Don't know that I've done right, sir," she remarked, doubtfully. "There was a young person here, waiting about to see you, been waiting the best part of an hour. I let her into your sitting-room."