"I knew it," she said, with a directness, a simplicity, that thrilled him. "I'm so glad!"
CHAPTER VI
JOHN ROGERS
David flung himself at the story as though it were a city to be taken by storm. He was full of power, of creative fury. His long-disused pen at first was stubborn, but gradually he re-broke it to work; and he wrote with an ease, a surety of touch, a fire, that he had never felt before. He had half-a-dozen separate incentives, and the sum of these was a vast energy that drove him conqueringly through obstacle after obstacle of the story.
These early days of the story were high days with him. He forgot, when writing, his basement room, his janitor's work, his dishonour. Infinity lay between the end of December and the end of January; in a month his spirits had risen from nadir to zenith. The world was his; nothing seemed beyond him. He even dared dream of passing Allen upon some mid-level and winning to the highest place in Helen Chambers's regard. The exhaustion of spirit at the end of each day's writing quenched this dream; but it was nevertheless enrapturing while it lasted, and at times David came near believing in it.
David had asked both Rogers and the Mayor to aid him in securing Tom a bona-fide position, and after the boy had been running the Pan-American Café for a month, a place was found. Tom's wages had been a heavy drain upon David's meagre income, and it was with a feeling of relief that David announced the coming change one night as they were preparing for bed.
"I've got some great news for you, Tom," he began.
"What's dat?" asked the boy, dropping the shoe he had just taken off.
"A new job!" cried David, trying to infect Tom with enthusiasm. "Delivery-boy on a wagon. You're to get four dollars a week—a dollar more than you're getting. Think of that! You're in luck, my boy—you're getting rich!"