"Because this is the saddest and happiest day of my life," she answered. Then she pulled from him with a little laugh, adding: "Look, Condy, you've dropped your letter. You pulled it out just now with your handkerchief."
As Condy picked it up, she noted the name of the Centennial Company upon the corner.
"It's the letter I got with the manuscript of the novel when they sent it back," he explained.
"What did they say?"
"Oh, the usual thing. I haven't read it yet. Here's what they say." He opened it and read:
"We return to you herewith the MS. of your novel, 'In Defiance of Authority,' and regret that our reader does not recommend it as available for publication at present. We have, however, followed your work with considerable interest, and have read a story by you, copied in one of our exchanges, under the title, 'A Victory Over Death,' which we would have been glad to publish ourselves, had you given us the chance.
"Would you consider the offer of the assistant editorship of our QUARTERLY, a literary and critical pamphlet, that we publish in New York, and with which we presume you are familiar? We do not believe there would be any difficulty in the matter of financial arrangements. In case you should decide to come on, we inclose R. R. passes via the A. T. & S. F., C. & A., and New York Central.
"Very truly,
"THE CENTENNIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
"NEW YORK."
The two exchanged glances. But Blix was too excited to speak, and could only give vent to a little, quivering, choking sigh. The letter was a veritable god from the machine, the one thing lacking to complete their happiness.
"I don't know how this looks to you," Condy began, trying to be calm, "but it seems to me that this is—that this—this—"