“Hardly. I suppose, then, the book has been a success?”
“A success? It’s been a cyclone. I’ve been fighting pirates ever since it came out. You see, I took the precaution to write some things in the book myself.”
Buel looked alarmed.
“And then I copyrighted the whole thing, and they can’t tell which is mine and which is yours until they get a hold of the English edition. That’s why I did not wait for your corrections.”
“We are collaborators, then?”
“You bet. I suppose some of the English copies are on this steamer? I’m going to try to have them seized by the customs if I can. I think I’ll make a charge of indecency against the book.”
“Good heavens!” cried Buel, aghast. “There is nothing of that in it.”
“I am afraid not,” said Brant, regretfully. “But it will give us a week more at least before it is decided. Anyhow, I’m ready for the pirates, even if they do come out. I’ve printed a cheap paper edition, 100,000 copies, and they are now in the hands of all the news companies—sealed up, of course—from New York to San Francisco. The moment a pirate shows his head, I’ll telegraph the word ‘rip’ all over the United States, and they will rip open the packages and flood the market with authorised cheap editions before the pirates leave New York. Oh, L. F. Brant was not born the day before yesterday.”
“I see he wasn’t,” said Buel, smiling.
“Now you come down and be introduced to the newspaper boys. You’ll find them jolly nice fellows.”