shaking himself into
an upright position. "Is that Cove City where the big red light bores
into the water like a corkscrew?"

They moved to the bow of the boat and watched as it changed its course
and made for the opposite shore.

"Did you mean," said Guinevere, absently, "that you wanted it all to end
like that? For us to just go out into nothing, like the river gets lost
in the ocean?"

Hinton glanced at her in surprise, and discovered that there was an
unusually thoughtful face under the sweeping brim of the red hat. The
fact that she was pretty was less evident to him than the fact that she
was wistful. His mood was sensitive to minor chords.

"I guess you _are_ eighteen," he said, and he smiled, and Guinevere
smiled back, and the chubby gentleman, coming suddenly out upon them,
went in again and slammed the door.

The lights on the landing twinkled brighter and brighter, and presently
figures could be seen moving here and there. The steamer, grumbling with
every chug of the wheel, was brought around, and the roustabouts crowded
along the rail, ready to make her fast.

Guinevere and Hinton stood on the upper deck under his umbrella and
waited.

Directly below them on the dock a small, fantastic figure made frantic
efforts to attract their attention. He stood uncovered, regardless of
the rain, madly waving his hat.

"Is that anybody you know?" asked Hinton.

Guinevere, who was watching the lights on the water, started guiltily.

"Where?" she asked.

"Down to the right--that comical little codger in the checked suit."

Guinevere looked, then turned upon Hinton eyes that were big with
indignation. "Why, of course," she said; "that's Mr. Opp."

XI

As Willard Hinton stood on the porch of Your Hotel and waited for his
host for the night to call for him, he was in that state of black
dejection that comes to a young man when Ambition has proposed to
Fortune, and been emphatically rejected. For six years he had worked
persistently and ceaselessly toward a given goal, doing clerical work by
day and creative work by night, going from shorthand into longhand, and
from numerical figures into figures of speech. For the way that Hinton's
soul was traveling was the Inky Way, and at its end lay Authorship.

Hinton had taken himself and his work seriously, and served an
apprenticeship of hard study and conscientious preparation. So zealous
was he, in fact, that he had arrived at the second stage of his gre