"I do."

"Was that why you asked me to come to Bayport and spend the week-end?"

"No-o. No, of course not."

"You're another; it was. When you met me at the railroad station
yesterday I could see there was something wrong with you. All this
morning you've had something on your chest. I thought it was the
biscuits, of course; but it wasn't, eh?"

"It was not."

"Then what was it? Aren't we paying you a large enough royalty?"

"You are paying me a good deal larger one than I deserve. I don't see
why you do it."

"Oh," with a wave of the hand, "that's all right. The publishing of
books is a pure philanthropy. We are in business for our health, and--"

"Shut up. You know as well as I do that the last two yarns of mine which
your house published have not done as well as the others."

I had caught him now. Anything remotely approaching a reflection upon
the business house of which he was the head was sufficient to stir
up Jim Campbell. That business, its methods and its success, were his
idols.

"I don't know any such thing," he protested, hotly. "We sold--"