was one of his numerous sidelines and occasionally on a Sunday he held devotional services in the open fields."
So Jimmy talked on and on about his story. He grew excited and rose to his feet. He acted some of the parts and walked up and down the room in his excitement.
Old Timothy peeked in through the door at his wild antics and gravely shook his head. Sad days had fallen on that house since the death of the master. Now it was a madhouse in which maniacs disported unrestrained.
But Mary Blaine sitting in her comfortable chair before the open fire fell completely under the spell of Jimmy's words. The boy was a genius. There was no denying it. Completely forgotten was her bunion, and her gold snuff-box slipped to the floor unperceived. Not in twenty years had such a thing happened. Her cosmos was completely shaken.
At last Jimmy paused abruptly. "Fm talking too much," he said. "I always do."
"I've enjoyed listening to you," she said. "I think it will make a wonderful story."
"It'll make me a pauper," he spat out. "I'll never earn a penny from it and I can't help writing it. I've got to. There's some devilish force within me which I can't overcome urging me on. At this rate I'll be a hundred and seven before I'll ever make enough to even think of getting married."
"Think the girl will wait that long?" asked Mary wickedly.
"She isn't waiting at all."
"Oh, you mean she's getting married all the time, sort of careless like."
"I don't mean anything of the sort."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply that she doesn't want me."
"Think she'll want you when you're a hundred and seven?"
"She'll never want me."
"Then why worry?"
"I'm not worrying. I don't like her."
"This is getting rather involved. Am I to understand that you don't like the girl you love?"
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