d so the lending goes on so
long as the covers hold together. Meanwhile the writer, away off
somewhere waiting and hoping and watching the sale, in return for the
pleasure he gives John and Charley and Phil and Dick and Sam and the
rest, and in consideration of that year of work and weariness and
struggle, gets enough perhaps to buy a meal at a Chinese restaurant. This
is appreciation, I say, enlightened twentieth century appreciation; and
the beauty of it is that every one of that company who get his work for
nothing feel that by their praise and by reading his work they've given
that writer, who can't possibly know anything about it, all that he could
possibly desire." For the first time that evening Armstrong paused to
laugh. "Oh, it's humorous, all right, when one stops to consider and
appreciate! Just suppose, though, in the name of fair play, some one had
suggested to John that he throw that copy of his in the furnace where no
one could possibly borrow it, and then go on telling his appreciation.
Just supposing some one had suggested that! Do you fancy John would have
considered that person wholly sane? And still that writer, besides being
an artist, is an animal with a stomach and needs a home to live in, and
maybe is human enough to have burdened himself with a wife and--and
children--"

"Steve, confound it, you've gone on long enough."

"I know it--too long."

"It doesn't do any good to rail at something you can't help, that no one
can help."

"Admitted. I'm just talking to myself--and you. It's all the same."

"You've never starved yet or gone without clothes, so far as I know."

"Starved, no. I had soup at my boarding-house for lunch again
to-day--soup with carrots in it. Hungry--I don't know. This is a big
world we're in and I've never had the chance even to look over the
horizon yet. Hungry? I've been hungry for--Elice for years, and I don't
dare--Hunger is awfully near to starvation sometimes, friend Harry."

Harry Randall squirmed. He saw it coming--it!

"Oh, things will come all right if you'll be patient," he said--and
halted himself for the trite optimism.

"Elice won't; for she's gone already while I've been patient--gone and
left me hungry."

"Nonsense. Rot, plain rot!"

"No, reality, plain reality. She probably wouldn't admit it yet, not even
to herself, maybe doesn't know it yet herself; but I know. It's been
coming on a long time. I see it all now."

Randall made a wry face. That wa