"I went to see Smithson the publisher about it, and he said he had no objection . . ."
He looked appealing]y at me. I kept silence.
"Of course, it's not your sort of work. But you might try . . . You see . . ." He came to a sustained halt.
"I don't understand," I said, rather coldly, when the silence became embarrassing. "You want me to 'ghost' for you?"
"'Ghost,' good gracious no," he said, energetically; "dear me, no!"
"Then I really don't understand," I said.
"I thought you might see your . . . I wanted you to collaborate with me. Quite publicly, of course, as far as the epithet applies."
"To collaborate," I said slowly. "You . . ."
I was looking at a miniature of the Farnese Hercules—I wondered what it meant, what club had struck the wheel of my fortune and whirled it into this astounding attitude.
"Of course you must think about it," he said.
"I don't know," I muttered; "the idea is so new. It's so little in my line. I don't know what I should make of it."
[109]
