"Rejected, by Jove!" he remarked as he saw the MS.
"No," I answered, throwing it on to a side table and myself into the chair opposite him—"no, thank heaven, it's all right now! They've accepted it. Congratulate me!"
"But what on earth have you brought it back for, then?" he said, blinking his heavy eyes and looking at me resentfully, as if he suspected I was playing some practical joke.
"Oh, there are a few things they want altered, that's all," I answered. "I am to let them have it again the day after to-morrow."
"And what about terms?" he continued, getting out a roll of cigarette papers and beginning to roll himself some cigarettes.
He was wide awake now, and had shaken off his intoxicated stupor. His face was bent slightly as he made the cigarettes, so that I could hardly see it. I sat watching his trembling fingers rolling the papers in an absent silence.
"Oh, terms?" I said at last. "Fairly good, I think. They pay me a small sum and reserve me one-third of all profits from the book. I really don't care much about the terms. Once the book is out my name is made, and the money will come in all right in time. They've taken it; that is the main point. If you knew the glorious relief it is to me!"
Howard laughed. He flung himself back in the chair and propped his feet up against the support of the mantelpiece.
"I think you are very lucky," he said. There was silence, then he asked abruptly—"How much are they going to give you for it?"
"Three thousand francs."