"Well, I guess you will, if you want to," said Rauch humorously; "only let the poor devil have something to eat before you begin to feel his bumps."

It all sent a novel glow through Vance, and he thought how wonderful life would be, spent among these fellows who talked of art as freely and familiarly as his father did of real estate deals. Eric Rauch explained who they were, what they had written or painted or carved ("That Stram girl—she's a regular headhunter; bright idea, doing all the newcomers … "), and which ones were likely to "get there." For the first time Vance was inducted into the world of literary competitions and rewards. Eric Rauch said there was a big campaign on already for this year's Pulsifer Prize; hadn't Vance heard of it? Best short story of the year … Two thousand dollars; and of course The Hour was going to try for it for "Unclaimed." "And, by the way, what have you got on the stocks now?" And then the business talk began.

Rauch said he had been charged by Tarrant to come to an understanding with Weston. They believed in him at The Hour—their policy was forward-looking; they wanted to make their own discoveries, not to butt in where somebody else had already staked out a claim. Weston, now—he wouldn't mind Rauch's saying frankly that as a writer he was utterly unknown? Because, unluckily, owing to muddle-headed mismanagement, his first story, "One Day," had been allowed to fall flat, drop out of sight as completely as if it had never been written. And they would have to build up his reputation all over again with "Unclaimed," which, they thought, was quite as remarkable as the other; though of course they couldn't guarantee the public's taking to it, with the silly prejudice there was against war stories. Anyhow, it was a good gamble, and they were glad to risk it. And to prove their faith in Weston, they were willing to go farther; willing to take an option on his whole output, articles, short stories and novels, for the next three years. Rauch didn't know if Weston realized what a chance that was for a beginner, who—well, wasn't in a position, let's say, to order himself an eight-cylinder Cadillac … for the present, anyhow… .