"'In the event of the author's death' is rather tactlessly over-emphasized, isn't it?"
Alexander explained that this was a mere matter of form.
"I rather like the chorus that runs through," she continued; "'Thirteen copies shall be reckoned as twelve.'... It would set rather well to part-music. Or is it a magic incantation to preserve me from harm?"
The junior partner did not budge a muscle of his face; but he said: "On the contrary, Miss O'Neill, it's a magic incantation to preserve US from harm."—And she discovered that she liked him.
Laying down the parchment on the table, she looked Campbell steadily in the eye: "Am I to understand that you're trying to do me out of elevenpence every time that twelve goes into a thousand, and one over to make thirteen? Because I'm only an unprotected girl, without—without"—her voice quivered—"without even a nice kind agent to look after me!"
"It's like this, ye see——" Campbell, very distressed, began to calculate the author's percentage of profit in ratio to the publisher's, with expenses deducted. And Alexander flipped the window-cord, and crossed his legs, and looked as if senior partners were really rather a mistake.
"You will find the last two clauses relate to your future books, Miss O'Neill. And now, if you'll sign——"
Patricia finished her perusal of the contract, and laid it aside. There was a curious impishness to the upward-tilted corners of her mouth; but her eyes were misted and far-away.... In a hundred different directions, little shutters seemed to have flown open, with attractive vistas beyond ... on and on and out ... vigour of creation, fun of popularity, rivalry and applause and stimulation; then the next book, and the next ... paths of literature—jolly little twisted paths ... rewards of literature; literary jargon and literary companions, literary grooves and outlook.... Well—it vrould have been rather fun!
"I'm going to withdraw 'The Reverse of the Medal,'" she said. "I've decided not to publish, after all."