Suddenly and savagely, he gathered up the papers, tore them down and across, handful by handful and stuffed them into the fireplace.
Hy looked on in amazement.
Betty was ready, and called to him. The Worm, set of face, showed them out. He did not know that he slammed the door behind them.
On the steps Betty said—softly, the coo of a mating bird in her voice—“What a funny man! I'm glad you're not like that, dear.” And slipped her fingers into his.
Hy returned her pressure; then withdrew his hand, glanced nervously up and down the street, and hurried her into the taxi that waited at the curb.
“One sure thing,” he muttered, “we can't eat breakfast there!”
Back in the rooms, the Worm—suddenly, feverishly, eager—laid out a fresh block of paper, dipped his pen into the ink, and snatching up a book for a ruler, drew a heavy line across near the top of the page. Above this line he printed out carefully—
THE BOUNDARY
A NOVEL
By Henry Bates