It has been another week. I could not stand it any more. I am going over to the publishers' again this afternoon.
—What in Heaven's name does this thing mean? I met the satisfied smile of the clerk again. “We have never seen the manuscript, Mr. Stirling!”
If you could only see how positive she is! “I don't know anything about what the editor told you, I can only tell you positively that he has never submitted any such manuscript to the firm, or to anybody connected with the firm.”
That thing drove me wild. I don't know what to make of it. Surely he's given it to some one, for he told me so.
I went up to the magazine rooms, and he was in his office; but he had left word that he would not see any one, and they would not even take in my name.
April 4th.
I can do nothing but haunt that place till I find out what it means! It has been three weeks and a half since he gave it to them, and he said I would hear at once. What in the world does he think it means to me? Can't I presume the slightest gleam of interest, of care, on his part?
April 5th.