ly.

"The idea, again, of a man such as I, untravelled, penniless,
self-educated, thinking to compete with others who journey the world
over to secure material, and who have spent a fortune in preparation
for this particular work." He excitedly drained the contents of the
glass.

"It's preposterous, childlike!"--he brought the frail trifle down to the
table with an emphasis which was all but its destruction--"imbecile!
I tell you I'm going to quit.

"Quit for good," he repeated at the expression on the other's face.

Bob Wilson scrutinized his companion with a critical eye.

"Waiter," he said, speaking over his shoulder, "waiter, kindly tax our
credit further to the extent of a couple of Havanas."

"Yes, sah," acknowledged the waiter.

Silence fell; but Bob's observation of his friend continued.

"So you are going to quit the fight?" he commented at last.

"I am,"--decidedly.

Wilson lit his cigar.

"You have completed that latest--production on which you were engaged,
I suppose?"

The writer scratched a match.

"This afternoon."

"And sent it on?"

A nod. "Yes, on to the furnace room."

A smile which approached a grin formed over Bob's big face.

"You have hope of its acceptance, I trust?"

Calmar Bye blew a cloud of smoke far toward the ceiling, and the
smile, a shade grim, was reflected.

"More than hope," laconically. "I have certainty at last."

Another pause followed and slowly the smile vanished from the faces of
both.

"Bob," and the long Calmar straightened in his chair, "I've been an
ass. It's all apparent, too apparent, now. I've tried to compete with
the entire world, and I'm too small. It's enough for me to work
against local competition." He meditatively flicked the ash from his
cigar with his little finger.

"I realize that a lot of my friends--women friends particularly--will
say they always knew I had no determination, wouldn't stay in the game
until I won. They're all alike in this one particular, Bob; all
sticklers for the big lower jaw.

"But I don't care. I've been shooting into a covey of publishers for
twelve years and never have touched a feather. Perseverance is a good
quality, but there is such a thing as insanity." He stared
unconsciously at the portieres of the booth.

"Once and for all, I tell you I'm through," he repeated.

"What are you going at?" queried Bob, sympathetically, a shade
quizzically.

The long Calmar reached into his pocket with deliberatio