Harviss looked at him with equal gravity. "Well, I'm sorry for that," he said, "because it takes you out of our bailiwick. But I suppose you've made enough money out of 'The Vital Thing' to permit yourself a little harmless amusement. When you want more cash come back to us—only don't put it off too long, or some other fellow will have stepped into your shoes. Popularity don't keep, you know; and the hotter the success the quicker the commodity perishes."
He leaned back, cheerful and sententious, delivering his axioms with conscious kindliness.
The Professor, who had risen and moved to the door, turned back with a wavering step.
"When did you say another volume would have to be ready?" he faltered.
"I said October—but call it a month later. You don't need any pushing nowadays."
"And—you'd have no objection to letting me have a little advance now? I need some new instruments for my real work."
Harviss extended a cordial hand. "My dear fellow, that's talking—I'll write the cheque while you wait; and I daresay we can start up the cheap edition of 'The Vital Thing' at the same time, if you'll pledge yourself to give us the book by November.—How much?" he asked, poised above his cheque-book.
In the street, the Professor stood staring about him, uncertain and a little dazed.
"After all, it's only putting it off for six months," he said to himself; "and I can do better work when I get my new instruments."
He smiled and raised his hat to the passing victoria of a lady in whose copy of "The Vital Thing" he had recently written: