She didn't."
Banneker, a little surprised and touched at the landlady's reticence,
explained.
"Ah, well," commented Miss Westlake, "you would soon have outgrown us in
any case."
"I'm not so sure. Where one lives doesn't so much matter. And I'm a
creature of habit."
"I think that you are going to be a very big man, Mr. Banneker."
"Do you?" He smiled down at her. "Now, why?"
She did not answer his smile. "You've got power," she replied. "And you
have mastered your medium--or gone far toward it."
"I'm grateful for your good opinion," he began courteously; but she
broke in on him, shaking her head.
"If it were mine alone, it wouldn't matter. It's the opinion of those
who know. Mr. Banneker, I've been taking a liberty."
"You're the last person in the world to do that, I should think," he
replied smilingly.
"But I have. You may remember my asking you once when those little
sketches that I retyped so often were to be published."
"Yes. I never did anything with them."
"I did. I showed them to Violet Thornborough. She is an old friend."
Ignorant of the publication world outside of Park Row, Banneker did not
recognize a name, unknown to the public, which in the inner literary
world connoted all that was finest, most perceptive, most discriminating
and helpful in selective criticism.
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