"I wish they hadn't been," said Van Buren, with a rueful smile. "They have provided just one hundred and sixty separate pieces of fuel for the critics to roast me with. Have there been any favorable reviews of the book?"
"None that I have seen—but don't you worry about that," replied Mr. Waterbury comfortingly. "It's the counting-room, not the critics, that tell the story. Something may happen yet to pull us out."
"What, for instance?" asked Van Buren
"Oh, I don't know," said Waterbury. "You might do something sensational and get it in the papers. That would help. It's up to you, Mr. Van Buren."
"I guess I'm all in," said Van Buren to himself as he walked down Tremont Street. "Up to me to do something—by Jove!" he interrupted himself abruptly. He had suddenly espied a copy of "The City of Credit" in a shop window. "Up to me, is it? Well, I think I shall rise to the occasion and not by doing anything sensational either."
He entered the shop.
"I want six copies of 'The City of Credit,'" he said quietly to the salesman. "It's a first-class story. Much of a demand for it?"
"No," said the salesman. "We have only the window copy, and we've had that over a month. I can get them for you, however."
"All right," said Van Buren. "Just send them to Charles H. Harney, The Helicon Club, New York. I'll pay for them now."
Van Buren paid his bill, and, returning to the street, hailed a hansom.