"Thank you very much," said Mark.
Conquest handed him the proof sheets of the novel.
"You must translate with discretion," he said carelessly; "but don't emasculate it! After all, we are not publishing for schoolgirls."
Mark left Paternoster Row, and mounted a 'bus in St. Paul's Churchyard. When he had taken his seat, he looked at the sheets and began to read them very rapidly. Tommy Greatorex was waiting for him at the Scribblers.
"Has Conquest given you Nespoli's novel?"
"It's in my pocket," said Mark, rather red in the face. "And it ought to be in the public sewer. I shan't translate it."
"Phew-w-w!" said Tommy. "What's the use of being so bally particular? What did he offer? Seventy-five? Oh, sixty—the Shylock. Well, old chap, if you don't take the job, somebody else will."
"There's not a particle of doubt about that," said Mark.
But when he returned the novel to Conquest, he saw that he had offended the great man, who shrugged his shoulders and said curtly that Mark had better buy a little lamb and play with it. This was too much. Mark flamed.
"I've stood your sneers long enough, Conquest," he said. "You've done me some good turns——"