"No," said Jack, coolly. "I propose to give it to YOU within a week, and
you will pay me with a breakfast. I should like to have it said that I
was once a paid contributor to literature. If I don't give it to you,
I'll stand you a dinner, that's all."
"Done!" said the editor. "And you know nothing of her now?"
"No," said Jack, promptly. "Nor you?"
"No more than I have told you."
"That'll do. So long!" And Jack, carefully adjusting his glossy hat over
his curls at an ominously wicked angle, sauntered lightly from the room.
The editor, glancing after his handsome figure and hearing him take
up his pretermitted whistle as he passed out, began to think that the
contingent dinner was by no means an inevitable prospect.
Howbeit, he plunged once more into his monotonous duties. But the
freshness of the day seemed to have departed with Jack, and the
later interruptions of foreman and publisher were of a more practical
character. It was not until the post arrived that the superscription on
one of the letters caught his eye, and revived his former interest.
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