And
now that it was gone I wondered, dully, if I could feel
Von Gerhard's departure more keenly.
No one knew of the existence of the book except
Norah, Von Gerhard, Blackie and me. Blackie had a way of
inquiring after its progress in hushed tones of mock awe.
Also he delighted in getting down on hands and knees and
guiding a yard-stick carefully about my desk with a view
to having a fence built around it, bearing an inscription
which would inform admiring tourists that here was the
desk at which the brilliant author had been wont to sit
when grinding out heart-throb stories for the humble
Post. He took an impish delight in my struggles with
my hero and heroine, and his inquiries after the health
of both were of such a nature as to make any earnest
writer person rise in wrath and slay him. I had seen
little of Blackie of late. My spare hours had been
devoted to the work in hand. On the day after the book
was sent away I was conscious of a little shock as I
strolled into Blackie's sanctum and took my accustomed
seat beside his big desk. There was an oddly pinched
look about Blackie's nostrils and lips, I thought. And
the deep-set black eyes appeared deeper and blacker than
ever in his thin little face.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244