United States. He was one of the younger members, but was popular
and well liked, and on more than one occasion had materially
contributed to the fun of the club's "low jinks."

In his box this morning he found one letter that he told himself
he must read upon the instant. It bore upon the envelope the name
of a New York publishing house to whom Condy had sent a collection
of his short stories about a month before. He took the letter
into the "round window" of the club, overlooking the street, and
tore it open excitedly. The fact that he had received a letter
from the firm without the return of his manuscript seemed a good
omen. This was what he read:

Conde Rivers, Esq., Bohemian Club, San Francisco, Cal.

DEAR SIR: We return to you by this mail the manuscript of your
stories, which we do not consider as available for publication at
the present moment. We would say, however, that we find in
several of them indications of a quite unusual order of merit.
The best-selling book just now is the short novel--say thirty
thousand words--of action and adventure. Judging from the stories
of your collection, we suspect that your talent lies in this
direction, and we would suggest that you write such a novel and
submit the same to us.
Very respectfully,
THE CENTENNIAL CO.,
New York.

Condy shoved the letter into his pocket and collapsed limply into
his chair.