“Every week I write a short story for the Sunday edition of the New York Planet. My stories have become popular. My name is becoming rather well known. I am now paid so well for my stories that I can afford to pay well for the idea you have given me. Your story is full of ideas, and it’s worth about a hundred dollars to me.”
“It isn’t worth a cent,” she said. “I don’t want you to offer me money.... Or anything....” She laid both hands against her forehead as though her head ached, and sat huddled up, elbows resting on her knees. Presently she yawned.
“Please excuse me,” she murmured, “I seem to be tired.”
There was a long silence. Annan turned his head to see if his friend Coltfoot still waited. Not discovering him, he inspected his watch. Surprised, he lit a match to make certain of the time; and discovered that he had been talking with this girl for more than an hour and a half.
He said to her in his pleasant, persuasive voice: “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She looked up, white and tired: “I’m not afraid of anybody.”
“Well, you’re not entirely right. However, if you’re not afraid of me, suppose I help you find a room to-night. You can afford a room now.”
She shook her head.
“You intend to stay here?”
“Yes, to-night.”