dvertising data that may interest you,
however."

From the hour--which grew to an hour and a half--spent in the library,
Banneker sought to improve his uncertain conception of his prospective
employer's habit and trend of mind. The hope of revelation was not borne
out by the reading matter at hand. Most of it proved to be technical.

When he returned to Marrineal's den, he found Russell Edmonds with the
host.

"Well, son, you've turned the trick," was the veteran's greeting.

"You've read 'em?" asked Banneker, and Marrineal was shrewd enough to
note the instinctive shading of manner when expert spoke to expert. He
was an outsider, being merely the owner. It amused him.

"Yes. They're dam' good."

"Aren't they dam' good?" returned Banneker eagerly.

"They'll save the day if anything can."

"Precisely my own humble opinion if a layman may speak," put in
Marrineal. "Mr. Banneker, shall I have the contract drawn up?"

"Not on my account. I don't need any. If I haven't made myself so
essential after the six months that you _have_ to keep me on, I'll want
to quit."

"Still in the gambling mood," smiled Marrineal.

The two practical journalists left, making an appointment to spend the
following morning with Marrineal in planning policy and methods.
Banneker went back to his apartment and wrote Miss Camilla Van Arsdale
all about it, in exultant mood.

"Brains to let! But I've got my price. And I'll get a higher one: the
highest, if I can hold out. It's all due to you. If you hadn't kept my
mind turned to things worth while in the early days at Manzanita, with
your music and books and your taste for all that is fine, I'd have fallen
into a rut. It's success, the first real taste. I like it. I love it. And
I owe it all to you."

Camilla Van Arsdale, yearning over the boyish outburst, smiled and
sighed and mused and was vaguely afraid, with quasi-maternal fears. She,
too, had had her taste of success; a marvelous stimulant, bubbling with
inspiration and incitement. But for all except the few who are strong
and steadfast, there lurks beneath the effervescence a subtle poison.

CHAPTER XVI

Not being specially gifted with originality of either thought or
expression, Mr. Herbert Cressey stopped Banneker outside of his
apartment with the remark made and provided for the delayed reunion of
frequent companions: "Well I thought you were dead!"

By way of keeping to the same level Banneker replied cheerfully: "