two small but regular incomes. He could also count on a
third (smaller and more uncertain) from _The Planet_, where from the
moment of his capture by Jewdwine he had been reinstated.

He found it easy enough to work for both. _The Planet_ was poor, and
it was out of sheer perversity that it indulged a disinterested
passion for literature. In fact, Maddox and his men were trying to do
with gaiety of heart what Jewdwine was doing with superb solemnity.
But whenever Rickman mentioned Maddox to Jewdwine, Jewdwine would
shrug his shoulders and say, "Maddox is not important"; and when he
mentioned _The Museion_ to Maddox, Maddox would correct him with a
laugh, "The Museum, you mean," and refer to his fellow-contributors as
"a respectable collection of meiocene fossils." Maddox had conceived a
jealous and violent admiration for Savage Keith Rickman. "Rickman," he
said, "you shall not go over body and soul to _The Museion_." He
regarded himself as the keeper and lover of Rickman's soul, and would
not have been sorry to bring about a divorce between it and Jewdwine.
His irregular attentions were to save it from a suicidal devotion to a
joyless consort. So that Rickman was torn between Maddox's enthusiasm
for him and his own enthusiasm for Jewdwine.

That affection endured, being one with his impetuous and generous
youth; while his genius, that thing alone and apart, escaped from
Jewdwine. He knew that Jewdwine's incorruptibility left him nothing to
expect in the way of approval and protection, and the knowledge did
not greatly affect him. He preferred that his friend should remain
incorruptible. That Jewdwine should greatly delight in his
_Saturnalia_ was more than he at any time expected. For there his
muse, Modernity, had begun to turn her back resolutely on the masters
and the models, to fling off the golden fetters of rhyme, gird up her
draperies to her naked thighs, and step out with her great swinging
stride on perilous paths of her own. To be sure there were other
things which Jewdwine had not seen, on which he himself felt that he
might rest a pretty secure claim to immortality.

Of his progress thither his friends had to accept Vaughan's
announcements as the only intimation. Rickman had not called upon any
of the Junior Journalists to smooth the way for him. He had not, in
fact, called on any of them at all, but as April advanced he retreated
more and more into a foolish privacy; and with the approaches of May
he va