"Can't let me publish it!" Browne exclaimed. "Why not? Don't tell me it infringes on someone else's copyright!"
"No. Nothing like that. I've merely decided I don't want it published. I'm returning your check."
"Well now, look!" Browne said. "We're a business establishment. You signed a contract. We signed one too. It protects both of us against just this sort of thing, you know." He studied Martin thoughtfully. "Sit down and relax," he invited. "I'm human. Tell me why you don't want it published. Maybe I might agree with you. We have over a thousand dollars tied up already in typesetting, but—"
Martin took the seat and glanced nervously at his watch to make sure the twenty-seven minutes hadn't elapsed.
"I've just changed my mind," he said curtly. "There are certain things—I'm the head of a department, you know. I must watch my reputation. That's it, my reputation. On due reflection I believe the book might hurt my standing."
"In what way?" Browne asked. "To tell you the truth, your other book did so well I didn't bother reading this one."
"There's a—" Martin brought himself up short. So Browne hadn't read it. So much the better. At least he wouldn't vanish. "I'm afraid," he added with a self-conscious chuckle that he hoped was genuine enough to pass, "the subject matter is a little too crackpottish in spots. That's the whole thing. It would reflect on my reputation."
"Maybe we could do a little editing on it," Browne said. "Cut out the parts you think crackpottish and substitute something else in those pages. I'll get the galleys and we can look at them."
"No!" Martin said. "No, I'm afraid we would have to cut out at least half of the book. No. The best thing is to forget it, but I'll make good your typesetting loss. I can pay you two hundred dollars right away and fifty dollars a month."
Browne lit a cigarette slowly, his eyes on Martin. "You're serious, aren't you," he said. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll let the whole thing ride for the present. Maybe later—"