"Three manuscripts; two from New York and one from Boston."
"'So flee the works of men Back to the earth again,'"
quoted the sentimentalist, smiling from the teeth outward. "Is that all?"
"All you would care about. There were some fussy old bills."
"Oh, the grocer's and the coal man's and the butcher's and the water company's, and some other little ones."
"'Some other little ones'," mused Jimaboy. "There's pathos for you. If I could ever get that into a story, with your intonation, it would be cheap at fifteen cents the word. We're up against it, Bella, dear."
"Well?" she said, with an arm around his neck.
"It isn't well; it's confoundedly ill. It begins to look as if it were 'back to the farm' for us."
She came around to sit on the arm of the chair.
"To the railroad office? Never! Jimmy, love. You are too good for that."
"Am I? That remains to be proved. And just at present the evidence is accumulating by the ream on the other side--reams of rejected MS."
"You haven't found yourself yet; that is all."
He forced a smile. "Let's offer a reward. 'Lost: the key to James and Isobel Jimaboy's success in life. Finder will be suitably recompensed on returning same to 506 Hayward Avenue, Cleland, Ohio.'"
She leaned over and planted a soft little kiss on the exact spot on his forehead where it would do the most good.
"I could take the city examination and teach, if you'd let me, Jimmy."
He shook his head definitely. That was ground which had been gone over before.
"Teach little babies their a b c's? I'm afraid that isn't your specialty, heart of mine. Now if you could teach other women the art of making a man believe that he has cornered the entire visible supply of ecstatic thrills in marrying the woman of his choice--by Jove, now! there's an idea!"
Now Jimaboy had no idea in particular; he never had an idea that he did not immediately coin it into words and try to sell it. But Isobel's eyes were suspiciously bright, and the situation had to be saved.
"I was just thinking: the thing to do successfully is the--er--the thing you do best, isn't it?"
She laughed, in spite of the unpaid bills.
"Why can't you put clever things like that into your stories, Jimmy, dear?"
"As if I didn't!" he retorted. "But don't step on my idea and squash it while it's in the soft-shell-crab stage. As I said, I was thinking: there is just one thing we can give the world odds on and beat it out of sight. And that thing is our long suit--our specialty."