to recover their equanimity. Burton
breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"I must go and change my clothes, Mr. Waddington," he declared. "I
don't know how on earth I could have come out looking such a sight. I
feel like working, too."

"Such a lovely morning!" Mr. Waddington sighed, gazing up at the sky.
"If only one could escape from these hateful streets and get out into
the country for a few hours! Have you ever thought of travelling
abroad, Burton?"

"Have you?" Burton asked.

Mr. Waddington nodded.

"I have it in my mind at the present moment," he admitted. "Imagine the
joy of wandering about in Rome or Florence, say, just looking at the
buildings one has heard of all one's life! And the picture
galleries--just fancy the picture galleries, Burton! What a dream!
Have you ever been to Paris?"

"Never," Burton confessed sadly.

"Nor I," Mr. Waddington continued. "I have been lying awake at nights
lately, thinking of Versailles. Why do we waste our time here at all, I
wonder, in this ugly little corner of the universe?"

Burton smiled.

"There is something of the hedonist about you, Mr. Waddington," he
remarked. "To me these multitudes of people are wonderful. I seem
driven always to seek for light in the crowded places."

Mr. Waddington called a taxicab.

"Can I give you a lift?" he asked. "I have no sale until the afternoon.
I shall go to one of the galleries. I want to escape from the memory of
the last half-hour!"

CHAPTER XX

ANOTHER COMPLICATION

There came a time when Burton finished his novel. He wrapped it up very
carefully in brown paper and set out to call upon his friend the
sub-editor. He gained his sanctum without any particular trouble and
was warmly greeted.

"Why haven't you brought us anything lately?" the sub-editor asked.

Burton tapped the parcel which he was carrying.

"I have written a novel," he said.

The sub-editor was not in the least impressed--in fact he shook his
head.

"There are too many novels," he declared.

"I am afraid," Burton replied, "that there will have to be one more, or
else I must starve."

"Why have you brought it here, anyhow?"

"I thought you might tell me what to do with it," Burton answered,
diffidently.

The sub-editor sighed and drew a sheet of note-paper towards him. He
wrote a few lines and put them in an envelope.

"There is a letter of introduction to a publisher," he explained.
"Frankly, I don't think it is worth the paper it is