"Just a minute, Mr. Westcott, will you? Yes--hullo--yes--This is 6140
Strand. Hullo! Hullo! Oh--is that you, Mrs. Wyman? Good morning--yes,
splendid, thank you--never fitter--Very busy yes, of course--what--Lunch
Thursday?... Oh, but delighted. Just let me look at my book a moment?
Yes--quite free--Who? The Frasers and Pigots? Oh! delightful! 1.30,
delightful!"
Mr. Boset, settled once more in his chair, was as charming as possible. You
would suppose that the whole day was at Peter's service. He wanted to know
a great many things. Peter's hopes ran high.
"Well--what have you got to show? What have you written?"
Peter had written a novel.
"Published?"
"No."
"Well ... got anything else?"
"No--not just at present."
"Oh well--must have something to show you know--"
"Yes." Peter's hopes were in his boots.
"Yes--must have something to show--" Mr. Boset's eyes were peering into the
cardboard box on a voyage of selection.
"Yes--well--when you've written something send it along--"
"I suppose there isn't anything I can do--"
"Well, our staff, you know, is filled up to the eyes as it is--fellows
waiting--lots of 'em--yes, you show us what you can do. Write an article or
two. Buy _The Mascot_ and see the kind of thing we like. Yes--Excuse me,
the telephone--Yes--Yes 6140 Strand...."
Peter found himself once more in the outer room and then ushered forth by
the Shining Boy he was in the street.
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