he authors when they don't want to publish their books."

"Yes, I know that saying. Why didn't you go in for the holiday books?"

"How did you know I didn't?"

"Lots of people told me."

"Well, then, I'll tell you why. I would have had to read them first,
and no human being could do that--not even a volunteer link in an
endless chain."

"I see. But since Christmas?"

"You know very well that after Christmas the book market drops dead."

"Yes, so I've been told." She had flung her wet veil back over her
shoulders, and he thought she had never looked so adorably plain
before; if she could have seen herself in a glass she would have found
her whole face out of drawing. It seemed as if his thinking had put
her in mind of them, and she said, "Those immoral mirrors are
shameful."

"They've sold more of the best books than anything else."

"No matter. As soon as I get a little drier I shall take them down."

"Very well. _I_ didn't put them up." He laid a log of hickory on the
fire. "I'm not doing it to dry you quicker."

"Oh, I know. I'll tell you one thing. You ought to keep the magazines,
or at least the Big Four. You could keep them with a good conscience,
and you could sell them without reading; they're always good."

"There's an idea in that. I believe I'll try it."

Margaret Green was now dry enough, and she rose and removed the
mirrors. In doing this she noticed that Erlcort had apparently sold a
good many of his best books, and she said: "Well! I don't see why
_you_ should be discouraged."

"Who said I was? I'm exultant."

"Then you were exulting with the corners of your mouth down just now.
Well, I must be going. Will you get a taxi to flounder over to the
Subway with me?" While Erlcort was telephoning she was talking to him.
"I believe the magazines will revive public interest in your scheme.
Put them in your window. Try to get advance copies for it."

"You have a commercial genius, Margaret Green."

"When it comes to selling literature, I have. Selling art is where I
fall down."

"That's because you always try to sell your own art. I should fall
down, too, if I tried to sell my own literature."

They got quite back to their old friendliness; the coming of the taxi
gave them plenty of time. The electric lights were turned brilliantly
on, but there, at the far end of the store, before the Franklin stove,
they had a cozy privacy. At the moment of parting she said:

"If I were you I should take