"So far as the booming is concerned," said Mr. Rattray
to Mr. Ticke, "I will attend to that; but there must be
something to boom. We can't sound the loud tocsin on a
lot of our own paras. She must do something that will go
between two covers."

The men were talking in Golightly's room over easeful
Sunday afternoon cigars; and as Rattray spoke they heard
a light step mount the stairs. "There she is now,"
replied Ticke. "Suppose we go up and propose it to her?"

"I wish I knew what to suggest," Rattray returned; "but
we might talk it over with her--when she's had time to
take off her bonnet."

Ten minutes later Elfrida was laughing at their ambitions.
"A success?" she exclaimed. "Oh yes! I mean to have a
success--one day! But not yet--oh no! First I must learn
to write a line decently, then a paragraph, then a page.
I must wait, oh, a very long time--ten years perhaps.
Five, anyway."

"Oh, if you do that," protested Golightly Ticke, "it will
be like decanted champagne. A success at nineteen--"

"Twenty-one," corrected Elfrida.

"Twenty-one if you like--is a sparkling success. A
success at thirty-one is--well, it lacks the accompaniments."

"You are a great deal too exacting, Miss Bell," Rattray
put in; "those things you do for us are charming, you
know they are."

"You are very good to say so. I'm afraid they're only
frivolous scraps."

"My opinion is this," Rattray went on sturdily. "You
only want material. Nobody can make bricks without
straw--to sell--and very few people can evolve books out
of the air that any publisher will look at it. You get
material for your scraps, and you treat it unconventionally,
so the scraps supply a demand. It's a demand that's
increasing every day--for fresh, unconventional matter.
Your ability to treat the scraps proves your ability to
do more sustained work if you could find it. Get the
material for a book, and I'll guarantee you'll do it
well."

Elfrida looked from one to the other with bright eyes.
"What do you suggest?" she said, with a nervous little
laugh. She had forgotten that she meant to wait ten years.

"That's precisely the difficulty," said Golightly, running
his fingers through his hair.

"We must get hold of something," said Rattray. "You've
never thought of doing a novel?"

Elfrida shook her head decidedly. "Not now," she said.
"I would not dare. I haven't looked at life long
enough--I've had hardly any experience at all. I couldn't
conceive a s