Arthur Meadows, behind her, went into a fit of laughter, and as his
wife, discomfited, turned back into the room he threw a triumphant arm
around her.
"I had to give him half a crown, dear, or burst. Just look at these
letters--and you know what a post we had this morning! Now don't bother
about the taxi! What does it matter? Come and open the post."
Whereupon Doris Meadows felt herself forcibly drawn down to a seat on
the sofa beside her husband, who threw a bundle of letters upon his
wife's lap, and then turned eagerly to open others with which his own
hands were full.
"H'm!--Two more publishers' letters, asking for the book--don't they
wish they may get it! But I could have made a far better bargain if I'd
only waited a fortnight. Just my luck! One--two--four--autograph fiends!
The last--a lady, of course!--wants a page of the first lecture. Calm!
Invitations from the Scottish Athenaeum--the Newcastle Academy--the
Birmingham Literary Guild--the Glasgow Poetic Society--the 'British
Philosophers'--the Dublin Dilettanti!--Heavens!--how many more! None of
them offering cash, as far as I can see--only fame--pure and undefiled!
Hullo!--that's a compliment!--the Parnassians have put me on their
Council.
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