Leopold opened it, and the domestic brought in a tray with a pot of tea and the ingredients of a light repast, which she placed upon another table near a window.

“There is always enough for two,” said Leopold.  “Reading is mighty tiresome work, and listening is too, and a cup of good strong tea will brighten us both up immensely.  You can come back for the tray in fifteen minutes, Jennie,” said Ernest.

The supper was finished, the tray removed, and the critic sat in judgment once more upon the words that fell from the reader’s lips.  Leopold’s face lighted up during the reading of “Her Native Land.”  He started to speak, and the word “That’s—­” escaped him, but he recovered himself and said no more, though he listened intently.

Quincy took a glass of wine and a cracker before starting upon the story which had been dictated to him.  Leopold gave no sign of falling asleep, but patted his hands lightly together at certain points in the story, whether contemplatively or approvingly Quincy could not determine.  As he read the closing lines of the last manuscript the cuckoo clock struck twelve, midnight.

“You are a mighty good reader, Quincy,” said Leopold, “and barring fifteen minutes for refreshments, you have been at it ten hours.  Now you want my opinion of those stories, and what’s more, you want my advice as to the best place to put them to secure their approval and early publication.  Now I am going to smoke a cigar quietly and think the whole thing over, and at half past twelve I will give you my opinion in writing.  I am going into my library for half an hour to write down what I have to say.  You take a nap on the lounge there, and you will be refreshed when I come back after having made mince meat of your poor, beautiful, blind protege.”

Leopold disappeared into the library, and Quincy stretching himself on the lounge, rested, but did not sleep.  Before he had realized that ten minutes had passed, Leopold stood beside him with a letter sheet in his hand, and said, “Now, Quincy, read this to me, and I will see if I have got it down straight.”

Quincy’s hand trembled nervously as he seated himself in his old position and turning the sheet so that the light would fall upon it, he read the following: 

Opinion of Leopold Ernst, Literary Critic, of certain manuscripts submitted for examination by Quincy A. Sawyer, with some advice gratis.

1.  Series of eight stories.  Mighty clever general idea; good stories well written.  Same style maintained throughout; good plots.  Our house could not handle them—­not of our line.  Send to ——. (Here followed the name of a New York publisher.) I will write Cooper, one of their readers.  He is a friend of mine, and will secure quick decision, which, I prophesy, will be favorable.

2.  “Her Native Land” is a fine story.  I can get it into a weekly literary paper that our house publishes.  I know Jameson, the reader, will take it, especially if you would give him the right to dramatize it.  He is hand and glove with all the theatre managers and has had several successes.