At length, when Laura Lou, propped against her pillows, first looked at him with reassured eyes, he decided to go to New York. He arrived empty-handed at the office, for he had not been able to write a line in the interval. He hoped to see Eric Rauch first and explain to him; but Rauch was out, and Vance was told that Mr. Tarrant was expecting him. Rauch was pliant and understanding; but his chief, to Vance, was a riddle. You could never tell if he was going to turn his nervous brilliant smile on you or meet you with a face of stone. He greeted Vance with a surprise in which the latter scented irony, and when told of Laura Lou's illness uttered the proper sentiments and at once jerked back to business. "Too bad … too bad … yes, of course… . My wife would have been glad to do anything … Well, now the anxiety's over I hope you'll take hold again. So much time's been lost that you really owe it to us … " and so on. Vance listened in silence. What could he say? At length he began: "You wouldn't care to have me change 'round and write some poetry for you?" Tarrant's face expressed a mixture of dismay and resentment. Poetry? Good God, everybody wanted to write poetry for them: magazine poetry was the easiest thing on earth to turn out. And here was a fellow who could do something else; who had a real gift as a short-story writer; as a novelist, perhaps—and wanting to throw away a chance like that to join the anonymous crowd in the Poets' Corner! Really, now, didn't Weston understand? He was bound to them; bound to do a certain thing; had signed a contract to that effect. Contracts weren't one-sided affairs, after all… . Tarrant's frown relaxed, and he laid his hand on his contributor's shoulder. "See here; you've had a bad shake-up. It's liable to happen to any of us. Only, once a fellow's formed the habit of work he keeps straight at it … through everything… ." Tarrant straightened his shoulders, as though discreetly offering himself as an object lesson. "Now then, Weston, better get back home as quick as you can, and tie up to your next short story. If 'Unclaimed' doesn't pull off the Pulsifer Prize, who knows but you've got something up your sleeve that will? I understand that Fynes asked you for an article on The Corner Grocery. The sale of his book has fallen off lately, and he counts on us to buck it up. If you'd made a hit with the article it would have given you a big boost for the prize. But I've had to turn Rauch onto it because there was no time to wait. So you can put that out of your mind anyhow, and just tackle your story," Tarrant ended on a note of affability.

"All right," Vance mumbled, glad to be gone.