by Messrs. Hutchins & Waterbury, and Van Buren took particular pains to
secure the first copy from the press and to send it by messenger with a
suitable inscription and a note to Miss Tooker.

"I send you my book," he wrote, "not because I think it is worth
reading, but for the double purpose of showing you that I have tried my
best to fulfil your wishes, and to assure the work of at least the
circulation of one copy. It has all of my heart in it."

For one reason or another, doubtless because there were quite five
hundred other novels of a similar character put forth about the same
time, by the end of October the world had not yet been consumed by any
conflagration of Van Buren's lighting.

"The book hangs fire," said Mr. Waterbury when Van Buren called upon
him at his Boston office to inquire how things were going. "We printed
five hundred copies, and this morning's report shows two hundred and
thirty still on hand. A hundred and sixty were sent for review."

"I wish they hadn't been," said Van Buren, with a rueful smile. "They
have provided just one hundred and sixty separate pieces of fuel for
the critics to roast me with. Have there been any favorable reviews of
the book?"

"None that I have seen--but don't you worry about that," replied Mr.
Waterbury comfortingly. "It's the counting-room, not the critics, that
tell the story. Something may happen yet to pull us out."

"What, for instance?" asked Van Buren

"Oh, I don't know," said Waterbury. "You might do something
sensational and get it in the papers. That would help. It's up to
you, Mr. Van Buren."

"I guess I'm all in," said Van Buren to himself as he walked down
Tremont Street. "Up to me to do something--by Jove!" he interrupted
himself abruptly. He had suddenly espied a copy of "The City of
Credit" in a shop window. "Up to me, is it? Well, I think I shall
rise to the occasion and not by doing anything sensational either."

He entered the shop.

"I want six copies of 'The City of Credit,'" he said quietly to the
salesman. "It's a first-class story. Much of a demand for it?"

"No," said the salesman. "We have only the window copy, and we've had
that over a month. I can get them for you, however."

"All right," said Van Buren. "Just send them to Charles H. Harney, The
Helicon Club, New York. I'll pay for them now."

Van Buren paid his bill, and, returning to the street, hailed a hansom.

"Take me to some good book-shop," he sa