morning was just as ripping as it had been a moment before. James was still twenty-two. And the editor's letter had not ceased to crackle in his breast-pocket.
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"A weird freak who came to teach French."
Consequently James stooped and—in a purely brotherly way—kissed Violet.
This, of course, was wrong. It was no part of James's duties as assistant-master at Harrow House to wander about bestowing brotherly kisses on housemaids. On the other hand, there was no great harm done. In the circles in which Violet moved the kiss was equivalent to the hand-shake of loftier society. Everybody who came to the back door kissed Violet. The carrier did; so did the grocer, the baker, the butcher, the gardener, the postman, the policeman, and the fishmonger. They were men of widely differing views on most points. On religion, politics, and the prospects of the entrants for the three o'clock race their opinions clashed. But in one respect they were unanimous. Whenever they came to the back door of Harrow House they all kissed Violet.
"I've had a story accepted by the Universal Magazine," said James, casually.
"Have you, sir?" said Violet.
"It's a pretty good magazine. I shall probably do a great deal for it from time to time. The editor seems a decent chap."
"Does he, sir?"
"I sha'n't tie myself up in any way, of course, unless I get very good terms. But I shall certainly let him see a good lot of my stuff. Jolly morning, isn't it?"
He strolled on; and Violet, having sniffed the air for a few more minutes with her tip-tilted nose, went indoors to attend to her work.
Five minutes later James, back in the atmosphere of chalk, was writing on the blackboard certain sentences for his class to turn into Latin prose. A somewhat topical note ran through them. As thus:—
"The uncle of Balbus wished him to tend sheep in the Colonies (Provincia)."
"Balbus said that England was good enough for him (placeo)."
"Balbus sent a story (versus) to Maecenas, who replied that he hoped to use it in due course."
His mind had floated away from the classroom, when a shrill voice brought him back.
"Sir, please, sir, what does 'in due course' mean?"
James reflected. "Alter it to 'immediately,'" he said.
"Balbus is a great man," he wrote on the blackboard.
Two minutes later he was in the office of an important magazine, and there was a look of relief on the editor's face, for James had practically promised to do a series of twelve short stories for him.
It has been well observed that when a writer has a story rejected he should send that story to another editor, but that when he has one accepted he should send another story to that editor. Acting on this excellent plan, James, being off duty for an hour after tea, smoked a pipe in his bedroom and settled down to work on a second effort for the Universal.
He was getting on rather well when his flow of ideas was broken by a knock on the door.
"Come in," yelled James. (Your author is notoriously irritable.)
The new-comer was Adolf. Adolf was one of that numerous band of Swiss and German youths who come to this country
