“He has found a publisher for his poems. But don’t mistake his remark about Philip. Philip didn’t ‘sniff,’ as Robert calls it. He said publishers fought shy of verses.”
But Philip had “sniffed,” for all that, and perhaps not without reason. Robert Burns the second could rhyme, but he was not the poet he imagined himself, and it had required the aid of a golden key to unlock the heart of a publisher.
The trio entered the drawing-room, Uncle Robert exclaiming boisterously: “You have won your bet, Annie! I couldn’t keep my secret. I’ve told Dan and Phyllis, and now we’ll all drink success to ‘Wings and Winds.’ Ah, you’ve won your bet, Annie! What was it?—a dozen of gloves?”
“And when is ‘Wings and Winds’ to come out, Burns?” inquired the Colonel. “I congratulate you heartily.”
“This autumn, my friend,” said Uncle Robert, beaming, “and Dan is going to work round some of those Johnnies who put your portrait in the illustrateds.”
Mrs. Barrimore now led the way to the dining-room, where a silver tray with glasses was placed of an evening.
Uncle Robert following with the Colonel, whispered: “Can I congratulate you too? Been making hay while the sun shines? Eh, what?”
The Colonel shook his head. The evening had been possibly one of those lost opportunities which we all know about.
“Cheer up, Cupid!” whispered Uncle Robert. “‘Between a woman’s Yes and No, There is not room for a pin to go.’”
But Colonel Lane did not take comfort. Brave in war he had shown himself, but he was timorous in love.