"There's a friend o' mine," continued Melky, "wholesale jeweller, down
Shoreditch way, wants to get out a catalogue. He ain't no lit'ry powers,
d'you see? Now, he'd run to a fiver--cash down--if some writing feller 'ud
touch things up a bit for him, like. Lor' bless you!--it wouldn't take you
more'n a day's work! What d'ye say to it?"

"I wouldn't mind earning five pounds at that," answered Lauriston.

"Right-oh!" said Melky. "Then some day next week, I'll take you down to
see him--he's away till then. And--you'll pay me ten per cent. on the bit
o' business, won't you, mister? Business is business, ain't it?"

"All right!" agreed Lauriston. "That's a bargain, of course."

Melky nodded and turned to his steak, and Lauriston presently left him and
went away. The plump lady at the desk gave him a smile as she handed him
his change.

"Hope to see you again, sir," she said.

Lauriston went back to his room, feeling that the world had changed. He
had paid his landlady, he had silver and copper in his pocket, he had the
chance of earning five pounds during the coming week--and he expected a
cheque for his two stories by every post. And if John Purdie made him the
loan he had asked for, he would be able to devote a whole month to
finishing his novel--and then, perhaps, there would be fame and riches.
The dismal November evening disappeared in a dream of hope.

But by the end of the week hope was dropping to zero again with Lauriston.
No letters had arrived--either from John Purdie or the editor. On the