Galton laughed.
“You'd get it,” he said. “If you knew how to handle it, you'd make it a hit. Well, take it along. If it isn't right tomorrow, it's done for.”
Tembarom didn't tell stories or laugh at dinner that evening. He said he had a headache. After dinner he bolted upstairs after Little Ann, and caught her before she mounted to her upper floor.
“Will you come and save my life again?” he said. “I'm in the tightest place I ever was in in my life.”
“I'll do anything I can, Mr. Tembarom,” she answered, and as his face had grown flushed by this time she looked anxious. “You look downright feverish.”
“I've got chills as well as fever,” he said. “It's the page. It seems like I was going to fall down on it.”
She turned back at once.
“No you won't, Mr. Tembarom,” she said “I'm just right-down sure you won't.”
They went down to the parlor again, and though there were people in it, they found a corner apart, and in less than ten minutes he had told her what had happened.
She took the manuscript he handed to her.