"I have a few short stories----" suggested Carter.

Collections of short stories, protested the visitor truthfully, "do
not sell. We would prefer another novel on the same lines as 'The
Dead Heat.'"

"Have you read 'The Dead Heat'?" asked Carter.

"I have not," admitted the publisher, but the next book by the same
author is sure to----. We will pay in advance of royalties fifteen
thousand dollars."

"Could you put that in writing?" asked Carter. When the publisher
was leaving he said:

"I see your success in literature is equaled by your success at the
races. Could you tell me what will win the Suburban?"

"I will send you a wire in the MORNING," said Carter.

They had arranged to dine with some friends and later to visit a
musical comedy. Carter had changed his clothes, and, while he was
waiting for Dolly to dress, was reclining in a huge arm-chair. The
heat of the day, the excitement, and the wear on his nerves caused
his head to sink back, his eyes to close, and his limbs to relax.

When, by her entrance, Dolly woke him, he jumped up in some
confusion.

"You've been asleep," she mocked.