y the door needs is to have his face blacked; then he'd start singin'
'S'wanee River.' This ain't 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' Bah!"

The advance copy, the first one, was ready early in September, and the
author, of course, brought it immediately to his friends. They found
the dedication especially interesting: "To C. W. and E. W., consulting
specialists at the literary clinics, with grateful acknowledgments."
Probably Captain Elisha was never prouder of anything, even his first
command, than of that dedication.

And the story, when at last it appeared for sale, was almost from the
beginning a success. The reviewers praised it, the reading public--that
final court of appeal which makes or unmakes novels--took kindly to it,
and discussed and recommended it; and, most important of all, perhaps,
it sold and continued to sell. There was something in it, its humanity,
its simplicity, its clearly marked characters, which made a hit. Pearson
no longer needed to seek publishers; they sought him. His short stories
were bid for by the magazines, and his prices climbed and climbed.
He found himself suddenly planted in the middle of the highway to
prosperity, with a clear road ahead of him, provided he continued to do
his best.

In September Stephen gave up his work at the broker's office, spent the
weeks with his friends in Maine, and then returned to Yale. He gave up
the position on the Street with reluctance. He was sure he liked it
now, he declared. It was what he was fitted for, and he meant, more than
ever, to take it up permanently as soon as he was free. And his employer
told Captain Elisha that the youngster was bright, clever, and apt. "A
little conceited, needs taking down occasionally, but that is the only
trouble. He has been spoiled, I should imagine," he said.

"Yup," replied the captain, with emphasis; "your imagination's a good
one. It don't need cultivatin' any."

The novel being out of the way, and its successor not yet far enough
advanced in plot or general plan for much discussion, the "literary
clinics" were no longer as frequent. But Pearson's visits to the Warren
house were not discontinued. All summer long he had been coming out,
once, and usually twice, a week. Captain Elisha had told him not to
stand on formality, to come any time, and he did. On most of these
occasions he found the captain at home; but, if only Caroline was there,
he seemed quite contented. She did not remark on the frequency of his
visits.