"Contingent, yes, on the author's success."

"Sir! I am not the author of a manuscript fifty years old!"

"Well, then, on the holder's success. You can agree to that, can't
you?"

"'Tis agreed. You are my counsel. When will you see the manuscript?"

"Whenever you choose to leave it with me."

The costumer's smile was firm: "Sir, I cannot permit that to pass from
my hand."

"Oh! then have a copy typed for me."

The Creole soliloquized: "That would be expensive." Then to Chester:
"Sir, I will tell you; to-night come at our parlor, over the shop. I
will read you that!"

"Shall we be alone?" asked Chester, hoping his client would say no.

"Only excepting my"--a tender brightness--"my wife!" Then a shade of
regret: "We are without children, me and my wife."

His wife. H'mm! _She_? That amazing one who had vanished within a
few yards of his bazaar of "masques et costumes"? Though to Chester
New Orleans was still new, and though fat law-books and a slim purse
kept him much to himself, he was aware that, while some Creoles grew