“Until when?”
“Until—until by and by. Until I had gone ahead further, you know.”
“I'm not sure that I do know. Gone ahead how? Until you had a better position, more salary?”
“No, not exactly. Until my writings were better known. Until I was a little more successful.”
“Successful? Until you wrote more poetry, do you mean?”
“Yes, sir. Poetry and other things, stories and plays, perhaps.”
“Do you mean—Did you figure that you and Madeline were to live on what you made by writing poetry and the other stuff?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Fosdick looked across at Captain Zelotes. The Captain's face was worth looking at.
“Here, here, hold on!” he exclaimed, jumping into the conversation. “Al, what are you talkin' about? You're bookkeeper for me, ain't you; for this concern right here where you are? What do you mean by talkin' as if your job was makin' up poetry pieces? That's only what you do on the side, and you know it. Eh, ain't that so?”