"I hold exactly the position," he said, "that I have described to you. My own impression is, that without me the Ibex would not exist for a month. That is where the editor and I differ, unfortunately."
"It seems so odd," Douglas said. "Some time ago I sent a story to the Ibex, and it was accepted. I have been looking for it to appear every week."
The shrewd little eyes twinkled into his.
"What was the title?"
"'No Man's Land.' Douglas Jesson was the name."
The newcomer filled Douglas's glass with Chianti from his own modest flask.
"Waiter," he said, "bring more wine. My friend, Douglas Jesson, we must drink together. I remember your story, for I put the blue chalk on it myself and took it up to Drexley. It is a meeting this, and we must celebrate. Your story will probably be used next week."
Douglas's eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed. The flavour of living was sweet upon his palate. Here he was, who, only twelve hours ago, had gone skulking in the shadows looking out upon life with terrified eyes, tempted even to self-destruction, suddenly in touch once more with the things that were dear to him, realising for the first time some of the dreams which had filled his brain in those long, sleepless nights upon the hill-top. He was a wanderer in Bohemia, welcomed by an older spirit. Surely fortune had commenced at last to smile upon him.
"You are on a visit here?" his new friend asked, "or have you come to
London for good?"
"For good, I trust," Douglas answered, smiling, "for I have burned my boats behind me."