Miss Thornborough had been the first
to see and foster half of the glimmering and feeble radiances which had
later grown to be the manifest lights of the magazine and book world,
thanks largely to her aid and encouragement. The next name mentioned by
Miss Westlake was well enough known to Banneker, however. The critic, it
appears, had, with her own hands, borne the anonymous, typed copies to
the editorial sanctum of the foremost of monthlies, and, claiming a
prerogative, refused to move aside from the pathway of orderly business
until the Great Gaines himself, editor and autocrat of the publication,
had read at least one of them. So the Great Gaines indulged Miss
Thornborough by reading one. He then indulged himself by reading three
more.
"Your goose," he pronounced, "is not fledged; but there may be a fringe
of swan feathers. Bring him to see me."
"I haven't the faintest idea of who, what, or where he is," answered the
insistent critic.
"Then hire a detective at our expense," smiled the editor. "And, please,
as you go, can't you lure away with you Mr. Harvey Wheelwright, our most
popular novelist, now in the reception-room wishing us to publish his
latest enormity? Us!" concluded the Great Gaines sufficiently.
Having related the episode to its subject, Miss Westlake said
diffidently: "Do you think it was inexcusably impertinent of me?"
"No.
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