“Yes. I’ve never read it myself yet, you know.”
“Take it and be happy!” Ray bestowed it upon him with dramatic effusion.
“No, seriously!” said Mr. Brandreth. “I want to talk with you. Sit down, won’t you? You know the first time you were in here, I told you I was anxious to get Chapley & Co. in line as a publishing house again; I didn’t like the way we were dropping out and turning into mere jobbers. You remember.”
Ray nodded.
“Well, sir, I’ve never lost sight of that idea, and I’ve been keeping one eye out for a good novel, to start with, ever since. I haven’t found it, I don’t mind telling you. You see, all the established reputations are in the hands of other publishers, and you can’t get them away without paying ridiculous money, and violating the comity of the trade at the same time. If we are to start new, we must start with a new man.”
“I don’t know whether I’m a new man or not,” said Ray, “if you’re working up to me. Sometimes I feel like a pretty old one. I think I came to New York about the beginning of the Christian era. But A Modern Romeo is as fresh as ever. It has the dew of the morning on it still—rubbed off in spots by the nose of the professional smeller.”
“Well,” said Mr. Brandreth, “it’s new enough for all practical purposes. I want you to let me take it home with me.”
“Which of the leading orchestras would you like to have accompany you to your door?” asked Ray.
“No, no! Don’t expect too much!” Mr. Brandreth entreated.
“I don’t expect anything,” Ray protested.