“Four dollars and a half,” he said.  “Not much, but we are fortunate to have that.  And with such fine living as we get here so cheap it will go quite a long way.  Let me see—­the price of board and lodging is only three and a half a week for both of us.  Seven dollars would pay our way for a fortnight—­and in a fortnight’s time there’s no telling what may turn up!  Some editor might buy ‘The Raven,’ or money due me for work already sold might come in.  If I could only contrive to raise this sum to seven dollars we could rest easy for at least a fortnight.”

“I’ll tell you how,” said Virginia.  “You have acquaintances here—­hunt up some of them and borrow three dollars.  Then you would have enough to pay two weeks board ahead and fifty cents over for pocket money.”

“Wise little head!” exclaimed he, tapping her brow, “The very idea!”

And forthwith all care as to ways and means was thrown from both their minds, and they gave themselves up to an evening of enjoyment of the comforts of their brown-stone mansion.

While Virginia was resting her husband went out for a little shopping to be done with part of the fifty cents they had allowed themselves for spending money.  First he exchanged a few cents for a tin pan to be filled with water and placed on top of the stove, for the comfort of Virginia who had been oppressed by the dry heat.  Then a few cents more went for two buttons his coat lacked, a skein of thread to sew them on with, and a skein of silk with which Virginia would mend a rent in his trousers made by too close contact with a nail on deck of the steamboat.

Next day was a bright, beautiful, spring Sunday.  The sky and budding trees had the newly-washed aspect often seen after a season of rain.  The sound of church-bells was on the air; the streets were filled with people in their best clothes, and the new boarders in Greenwich Street, fortified with a breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee, jubilantly joined that stream of humanity which flowed toward the point above which Trinity Church spire pierced the clear sky.

* * * * *

On Monday, Edgar Poe was taken with what he called a “writing fit.”  For several days (during which Edgar Goodfellow remained in the ascendency) the fit remained on him, and he wrote incessantly—­only pausing long enough, now and then, to read the result to Virginia.

“This will earn us the money to bring Muddie and Catalina to New York,” he said with confidence.

At last the manuscript was finished and no sooner was the ink dry upon the paper than he took it to The Sun, which promptly bought and paid for it, and upon the next Sunday, April 13, printed it not as a story, but as news.

“Astounding News by Express, via Norfolk!” (The headlines said).  “The Atlantic crossed in Three Days.”  Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason’s Flying Machines!!!

“Arrival at Sullivan’s Island, near Charleston, S.C., of Mr. Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, and four others, in the Steering Balloon, ‘Victoria,’ after a passage of seventy-five hours from Land to Land!  Full Particulars of the Voyage!”