rearranging, and embellishing; and Condy was astonished and delighted
to note that she "caught on" to the idea as quickly as he, and knew the
telling points and what details to leave out.

"And I'll make a bang-up article out of the whaleback herself,"
declared Condy. The "idea" of the article had returned to him, and all
his enthusiasm with it.

"And look here," he said, showing her the letter from the Centennial
Company. "They turned down my book, but see what they say.

"Quite an unusual order of merit!" cried Travis. "Why, that's fine!
Why didn't you show this to me before?--and asking you like this to
write them a novel of adventure! What MORE can you want? Oh!" she
exclaimed impatiently, "that's so like you; you would tell everybody
about your reverses, and carry on about them yourself, but never say a
word when you get a little boom. Have you an idea for a
thirty-thousand-word novel? Wouldn't that diver's story do?"

"No, there's not enough in that for thirty thousand words. I haven't
any idea at all--never wrote a story of adventure--never wrote anything
longer than six thousand words. But I'll keep my eye open for
something that will do. By the way--by Jove! Travis, where are we?"

They looked briskly around them, and the bustling, breezy waterfront
faded from their recollections. They were in a world of narrow
streets, of galleries and overhanging balconies. Craziest structures,
riddled and honeycombed with stairways and passages, shut out the sky,
though here and there rose a building of extraordinary richness and
most elaborate ornamentation. Color was everywhere. A thousand little
notes of green and yellow, of vermilion and sky blue, assaulted the
eye. Here it was a doorway, here a vivid glint of cloth or hanging,
here a huge scarlet sign lettered with gold, and here a kaleidoscopic
effect in the garments of a passer-by. Directly opposite, and two
stories above their heads, a sort of huge "loggia," one blaze of
gilding and crude vermilions, opened in the gray cement of a crumbling
facade, like a sudden burst of flame. Gigantic pot-bellied lanterns of
red and gold swung from its ceiling, while along its railing stood a
row of pots--brass, ruddy bronze, and blue porcelain--from which were
growing red saffron, purple, pink, and golden tulips without number.
The air was vibrant with unfamiliar noises. From one of the balconies
near at hand, though unseen, a gong, a pipe, and some kind of s