“Thank her on my behalf,” returned the other gravely.  “If The Bon Vivant wants it and will pay for it, I shall certainly sell it to them.”

“Out of pique?...  Hold hard, young sir!  You can’t shoot an editor in his sanctum because of an ill-advised but natural question.”

“True enough.  Nor do I want—­well, yes; I would rather like to.”

“Good!  That’s natural and genuine.”

“What do you think The Bon Vivant would pay for that story?” inquired Banneker.

“Perhaps a hundred dollars.  Cheap, for a career, isn’t it!”

“Isn’t the assumption that there is but one pathway to the True Art and but one signboard pointing to it a little excessive?”

“Abominably.  There are a thousand pathways, broad and narrow.  They all go uphill....  Some day when you spin something out of your own inside, Mr. Banneker, forgive the well-meaning editor and let us see it.  It might be pure silk.”

All the way downtown, Banneker cursed inwardly but brilliantly.  This was his first set-back.  Everything prior which he had attempted had been successful.  Inevitably the hard, firm texture of his inner endurance had softened under the spoiled-child treatment which the world had readily accorded him.  Even while he recognized this, he sulked.

To some extent he was cheered up by a letter from the editor of that lively and not too finicky publication, Tittle-Tattle.  The interview with Miss Raleigh was acclaimed with almost rapturous delight.  It was precisely the sort of thing wanted.  Proof had already been sent to Miss Raleigh, who was equally pleased.  Would Mr. Banneker kindly read and revise enclosed proof and return it as soon as possible?  Mr. Banneker did better than that.  He took back the corrected proof in person.  The editor was most cordial, until Banneker inquired what price was to be paid for the interview.  Then the editor was surprised and grieved.  It appeared that he had not expected to pay anything for it.

“Do you expect to get copy for nothing?” inquired the astonished and annoyed Banneker.

“If it comes to that,” retorted the sharp-featured young man at the editorial desk, “you’re the one that’s getting something for nothing.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Come off!  This is red-hot advertising matter for Betty Raleigh, and you know it.  Why, I ought to charge a coupla hundred for running it at all.  But you being a newspaper man and the stuff being so snappy, I’m willing to make an exception.  Besides, you’re a friend of Raleigh’s, ain’t you?  Well—­’nuff said!”

It was upon the tip of Banneker’s tongue to demand the copy back.  Then he bethought himself of Betty’s disappointment.  The thing was well done.  If he had been a thousand miles short of giving even a hint of the real Betty—­who was a good deal of a person—­at least he had embodied much of the light and frivolous charm which was her stage stock-in-trade, and what her public wanted.  He owed her that much, anyhow.