Quincy was fortunate in finding Leopold at home.
"I'm glad you've come, Quincy," said he; "I was going to write you
to-night."
"What's up?" inquired Quincy.
"Please pass me that package of papers on the corner of the table,"
answered Leopold, being loath to rise from his recumbent position on the
lounge.
Quincy did as requested and took a seat beside Leopold.
"These," said Leopold, "are the proofs of the first writings of a
to-be-famous American author. Glad she took a man's name, so I don't
have to say authoress. Here," he continued, "are the proofs of the
story, Was it Signed? Cooper wishes it read and returned immediately.
Editors wish everything done immediately. They loaf on their end and
expect the poor author to sit up all night and make up for their
shortcomings. I'm a sort of editor myself, and I know what I'm talking
about. This lot," he continued, "will appear in 'The Sunday Universe' a
week from next Sunday. I had a copy made for Jameson to work from. Bruce
Douglas owes me four-fifty for expenses, necessary but not authorized."
"I will see that you are reimbursed," said Quincy; "want it now?" and he
made a motion to take out his pocketbook.
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