ks on which the tan still lingered, ill-clad but personable.

"I've brought Mr. Jesson in to see you, sir," Rice said, breezily. "I
found him at Spargetti's, struck up an acquaintance and brought him
along. I thought you'd like to have a talk with him about some more
work."

Drexley for a moment was as speechless as Douglas was nervous. Rice,
blandly unconscious of anything unusual, wheeled up a chair for the
latter and sauntered towards the door.

"I'd like to have a word with you before you go, Jesson," he said.
"Will you look in at my room?"

Douglas murmured an inarticulate assent, and Rice departed. Then he
looked up at the man who so far had only bidden him a mechanical good
morning, and wondered a little at the heavy frown upon his face.
Perhaps his introduction had been a little unceremonious, but surely he
could not be blamed for that.

Drexley pulled himself together. The thing was awkward, but it must be
faced.

"You have come to see us about your story, I suppose, Mr. Jesson?" he
began. "A very fair story indeed for a beginner, as I suppose you are.
I am hoping that some day we may be able to make use of it for the
_Ibex_."

Douglas looked up quickly.

"I understood Mr. Rice that you were using it in the next issue of the
magazine," he said.

"The next issue!" Drexley shook his head.

"I am afraid that is quite out of the question," he said. "You see our
arrangements are all made a very long time ahead, and we have short
stories enough on hand now to last us nearly two years. Of course if
you care to leave yours with us, I think I can promise you that it shall
appear some time, but exactly when, I should not care to say. It would
be quite impossible to fix a date."

Douglas was bewildered--speechless. He did his best, however, to remain
coherent.

"Mr. Rice certainly told me," he said, "that it was in type and would
appear at once. He seemed to think, too, that if I saw you you might
give me some more work. I am living in London now, and I hoped that it
might be possible for me to make some money by my pen."

Drexley was silent for several moments. For the first time in his life
he glanced across at the photograph which stood upon his table with
something like impatience.

"I am afraid that I cannot offer you much encouragement," he said. "If
ever a market in the world was overcrowded, the literary market of
to-day is in that state. If you like to leave your story it shall
appear some tim