He sat motionless, hands limp on his knees, chin down.
'Not enough,' said Merchant.
Henry shifted one hand in ineffectual protest. He was frightened.
'It's pretty near enough. After all, Merchant, it's a case of a new writer. I've got to make him. It'll cost money.'
'True. But I should think——'
'Say a hundred and fifty. That's three thousand. Will you take that, Calverly?
'What for?' asked Merchant. 'What are you buying exactly?'
'Oh, serial rights. Pay a reasonable royalty on the book, of course. But I've got to publish the book, too. And I want a long-term contract. Here!' He sat down and figured with a pencil on the edge of the evening paper. 'How about this? I'm to have exclusive control of the Henry Calverly matter for five years——'
'Too long,' said Mr Merchant.
'Well—three years. I'm to see every word before he offers it elsewhere. And for what I accept I'd pay at the same rate per word as for these stories. And books at the same royalty as we agree on for this.'