He took from the table a slip of manuscript, headed, ‘A Reverie in Wall Street.’ Munden read it, sat thoughtful for a moment, and laughed.
‘Devilish savage. Did you write it after a free lunch?’
‘Wrote it this morning. Shall I try one of the evening papers with it,—or one of the weeklies?’
Munden suggested a few alterations, and mentioned the journal which he thought might possibly find room for such a bit of satire.
‘Done anything else?’
‘Here’s a half-finished paper—“The Commercial Prospects of the Bahamas.”’
‘Let me look.’
After reading a page or two with critically wrinkled forehead, Munden laid it down.
‘Seems pretty solid,—libellous, too, I should say. You’ve more stuff in you than I thought. All right: go ahead.—Come and dine with me to-morrow, to meet a man who may be useful.’
‘To-morrow I can’t. I dine at Lady Pollard’s.’