At length the two men went away. Mr. Osborne turned from the door and came toward David, smiling cordially, his hand outstretched.
"Let me congratulate you, Mr. Aldrich!" he said heartily.
David rose and put a nerveless hand into Mr. Osborne's. "You mean—you like it?"
"Indeed I do! If you and I can come to an agreement, we shall be proud to publish it."
David gazed swimmingly at him. There was a whirling, a bubbling, within him—but he managed to say with fair control: "It's hardly necessary to tell an old publisher how happy a new author is to hear that."
Mr. Osborne sat down and David automatically did likewise.
"You, Mr. Aldrich, have particular reason to feel happy. We print a great many well-written, dramatic stories—stories which are just that, and no more. That, of course, is a great deal. But when a book, without impairment to its dramatic and artistic quality, leaves a profound impression regarding some aspect of life—that book has an element of bigness that the other stories lack. Mr. Aldrich, yours is such a story."
David felt he was reeling off his chair. "Yes?" he said.
Mr. Osborne went on to praise the book in detail. After a time he proposed terms. David took in hardly a word of the offer; his mind was over-running with his success, his praise. But he accepted the terms instantly.
This settled, Mr. Osborne picked up several yellowed type-written sheets from his disordered desk. "By the way, are you the David Aldrich that submitted us a novel five or six years ago called 'The Master Knot?'"