aid then. It would seem a kind of
sacrilege to take money for such a book--a book I wrote because I
wanted to--"

"I don't see that at all," Sibley cut in dryly. "You are the first
author I--or any other publisher, I should think--ever had to urge to
accept hard cash. But you're probably an exception to a good many
rules! We can't take your book as a present, you know! So if you want
it published you'll have to come round to our terms."

"You mean that?" asked Denin. "You won't bring out my story if I refuse
your money?"

"I do mean that, though I should hate to sacrifice the book. And I
honestly believe that many people would be happier for reading it."

"Very well then," Denin answered. "I'll accept the money and thank you
for it. I want my book to come out, more than I want anything
else--that--that can possibly happen."

To a man who had lived from hand to mouth as John Sanbourne had since
Sir John Denin died, three thousand dollars seemed something like a
fortune. He had lost his old sense of proportion in life, and had
almost forgotten how it felt to have all the money he wanted. Perhaps
he forgot more easily than most men of his class, for he had never
cared greatly for the things which money alone can buy. His tastes had
always seemed to his friends ridiculously simple, so simple as to be
dangerously near affectation; and as a small boy he had announced
firmly that he would "rather be a gardener in a beautiful garden, than
one of those millionaires who have to do their business always in
towns." Now, when he had recovered from the first shock of accepting
money for the book of his heart, he began to reflect how to plan his
life. The thought that he could have a garden was a real incentive, for
working in a garden would save him from the unending desolation of
uselessness, when the last proofs were corrected and there was no
longer any work to do on his story.

Barbara and Mrs. Fay had both talked to John Denin about their old home
in California, and with the knowledge that he could afford it a keen
wish was suddenly born in John Sanbourne to make some kind of a home
for himself in the country where Barbara had lived. She was named, her
mother had told him, after Santa Barbara. The girl had been born near
Santa Barbara, and had grown up there to the age of thirteen, when her
father had died and their place had been sold. After that, the mother
and daughter had gone to Paris. Denin recalled with crystal cle