CHAPTER IV
It was a few minutes after six that evening when Philip was conscious of a knock at his door. He swung around in his chair, blinking a little.
"Come in!"
Martha Grimes entered. She was in outdoor apparel, that is to say she wore her hat and a long mackintosh. She remained standing upon the threshold.
"Just looked up to see if you've got any more work ready," she explained.
He sprang to his feet and stood there, for a moment, unsteadily.
"Come in and shut the door," he ordered. "Look! Look!" he added, pointing to his table. "Thirty-three sheets! I've been working all the time. I've been living, I tell you, living God knows where!—not in this accursed little world. Here, let's pick up the sheets. There's enough work for you."
She looked at him curiously.
"Have you been in that chair ever since?" she asked.
"Ever since," he assented enthusiastically.
"Any lunch?"
"Not a scrap. Never thought about it."
"You'll make yourself sick, that's what you'll
