'None of your legal jargon here,' Mr. Snyder laughed again. 'What's a
folio?'

'Seventy-two words.'

'About twenty thousand words then, eh? Too short!'

'Does that matter?' Henry demanded. 'I should have thought----'

'Of course it matters,' Mr. Snyder snapped. 'If you went to a concert,
and it began at eight and finished at half-past, would you go out
satisfied with the performers' assurance that quality and not quantity
was the thing? Ha, ha!'

Mr. Snyder sniffed the air yet again, and looked at the fire
inquisitively, still sniffing.

'There's only one price for novels, six-shillings,' Mr. Snyder
proceeded. 'The public likes six shillings' worth of quality. But it
absolutely insists on six shillings' worth of quantity, and doesn't
object to more. What can I do with this?' he went on, picking up _Love
in Babylon_ and weighing it as in a balance. 'What _can_ I do with a
thing like this?'

'If Carlyle came to Kenilworth Mansions!' Henry speculated. At the same
time Mr. Snyder's epigrammatic remarks impressed him. He saw the art of
Richardson and Balzac in an entirely new aspect. It was as though he had
walked round the house of literature, and peeped in at the backdoor.

Mr. Snyder suddenly put _Love in Babylon_ to his nose.

'Oh, it's _that_!' he murmured, enlightened.

Henry had to narrate the disaster of the onion-cart, at which Mr. Snyder
was immensely amused.

'Good!' he ejaculated. 'Good! By the way, might send it to Onions
Winter. Know Onions Winter? No? He's always called Spring Onions in the
trade. Pushing man. What a joke it would be!' Mr. Snyder roared with
laughter. 'But seriously, Winter might----'

Just then Goldenhair entered the room with a slip of paper, and Mr.
Snyder begged to be excused a moment. During his absence Henry reflected
upon the singularly unbusinesslike nature of the conversation, and
decided that it would be well to import a little business into it.

'I'm called away,' said Mr. Snyder, re-entering.

'I must go, too,' said Henry. 'May I ask, Mr. Snyder, what are your
terms for arranging publication?'

'Ten per cent.,' said Mr. Snyder succinctly. 'On gross receipts.
Generally, to unknown men, I charge a preliminary fee, but, of course,
with you----'

'Ten per cent.?' Henry inquired.

'Ten per cent.,' repeated Mr. Snyder.

'Does that mean--ten per cent.?' Henry demanded, dazed.

Mr. Snyder nodded.

'But do you mean to say,' said the author of _Love in Babylon_
imp