Mr. Brandreth received him with a gayety that put this quite out of his mind; and he thought the publisher was going to tell him that he had decided, after all, to accept his novel.
“Ah, Mr. Ray,” Mr. Brandreth called out at sight of him, “I was just sending a note to you! Sit down a moment, won’t you? The editor of Every Evening was in here just now, and he happened to say he wished he knew some one who could make him a synopsis of a rather important book he’s had an advanced copy of from the other side. It’s likely to be of particular interest in connection with Coquelin’s visit; it’s a study of French comic acting from Molière down; and I happened to think of you. You know French?”
“Why, yes, thank you—to read. You’re very kind, Mr. Brandreth, to think of me.”
“Oh, not at all! I didn’t know whether you ever did the kind of thing the Every Evening wants, or whether you were not too busy; but I thought I’d drop an anchor to windward for you, on the chance that you might like to do it.”
“I should like very much to do it; and”—
“I’ll tell you why I did it,” Mr. Brandreth interrupted, radiantly. “I happened to know they’re making a change in the literary department of the Every Evening, and I thought that if this bit of work would let you show your hand—See?”
“Yes; and I’m everlastingly”—
“Not at all, not at all!” Mr. Brandreth opened the letter he was holding, and gave Ray a note that it inclosed. “That’s an introduction to the editor of the Every Evening, and you’ll strike him at the office about now, if you’d like to see him.”
Ray caught with rapture the hand Mr. Brandreth offered him. “I don’t know what to say to you, but I’m extremely obliged. I’ll go at once.” He started to the door, and turned. “I hope Mrs. Brandreth is well, and—and—the baby?”
“Splendidly. I shall want to have you up there again as soon as we can manage it. Why haven’t you been at Mrs. Chapley’s? Didn’t you get her card?”