itting room and reappeared with triumph written large upon her face. In
one hand she held a mysterious envelope and in the other a book. Albert
recognized that book. It was his own, The Lances of Dawn. It was
no novelty to him. When first the outside world and he had reopened
communication, copies of that book had been sent him. His publisher
had sent them, Madeline had sent them, his grandparents had sent them,
comrades had sent them, nurses and doctors and newspaper men had brought
them. No, The Lances of Dawn was not a novelty to its author. But he
wondered what was in the envelope.

Mrs. Snow enlightened him. "You sit right down now, Albert," she said.
"Sit right down and listen because I've got somethin' to tell you. Yes,
and somethin' to show you, too. Here! Stop now, Zelotes! You can't run
away. You've got to sit down and look on and listen, too."

Captain Zelotes smiled resignedly. There was, or so it seemed to his
grandson, an odd expression on his face. He looked pleased, but not
altogether pleased. However, he obeyed his wife's orders and sat.

"Stop, look and listen," he observed. "Mother, you sound like a railroad
crossin'. All right, here I am. Al, the society of 'What did I tell you'
is goin' to have a meetin'."

His wife nodded. "Well," she said, triumphantly, "what DID I tell you?
Wasn't I right?"

The captain pulled his beard and nodded.

"Right as right could be, Mother," he admitted. "Your figgers was a
few hundred thousand out of the way, maybe, but barrin' that you was
perfectly right."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so for once in your life. Albert,"
holding up the envelope, "do you know what this is?"

Albert, much puzzled, admitted that he did not. His grandmother put down
the book, opened the envelope and took from it a slip of paper.

"And can you guess what THIS is?" she asked. Albert could not guess.

"It's a check, that's what it is. It's the first six months' royalties,
that's what they call 'em, on that beautiful book of yours. And how much
do you suppose 'tis?"

Albert shook his head. "Twenty-five dollars?" he suggested jokingly.

"Twenty-five dollars! It's over twenty-five HUNDRED dollars. It's
twenty-eight hundred and forty-three dollars and sixty-five cents,
that's what it is. Think of it! Almost three thousand dollars! And
Zelotes prophesied that 'twouldn't be more than--"

Her husband held up his hand. "Sh-sh! Sh-sh, Mother," he said. "Don't
get started on what I pr