“He hasn’t spoken of changing his work. Did you hear that New York has touched him with her magic?” Miss Claes asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He has sold a story—a short story for two hundred dollars to The Public Square.”
“Nagar—your servant?”
“He isn’t my servant, Pidge. He just lives here and works with me.”
There was a clicking dryness to the girl’s tongue, as she asked:
“And now is he going away? You said they always do when they strike it rich.”
“Oh, no. Nagar wouldn’t leave for a little story success. But nobody quite knows Nagar—nobody.”
Pidge was alone. The Lance of the Rivernais was pricking at her to get back to work, but she resisted for a few minutes, thinking of Miss Claes.