"
Sharlee tapped the calcimine with her pointed fingernails. He spoke, as
ever, with overweening confidence, but she knew that he would never win
any editorship in this spirit. He was going at the quest with a new
burst of intellectual contempt, though it was this very intellectual
contempt that had led to his downfall.
"But your own private work?"
"Don't speak of it, I beg!" He flinched uncontrollably; but of his own
accord he added, in carefully repressed tones: "To qualify for the
editorship of course means--a terrible interruption and delay. It means
that _I must side-track My Book for two months or even longer!_"
Two months! It would take him five years and probably he would not be
qualified then.
Sharlee hesitated. "Have you fully made up your mind to--to be editor?"
He turned upon her vehemently. "May I ask you never to waste my time
with questions of that sort. I never--_never_--say anything until I have
fully made up my mind about it. Good-morning."
"No, no, no! Don't go yet! Please--I want to speak to you a minute."
He stopped and turned, but did not retrace the three steps he had taken.
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