...
* * * * *
"In the yard of an inn at Capernaum. On the left stands the entrance to
the inn. In the extreme background lies the beach, and, beyond, the Sea
of Galilee. A fisherboat is seen, drawn up on shore. Three fishermen
discovered mending nets, at rise of curtain."
The stage was set for the second act. I must get the play finished in
the rough. I owed this much to Mr. Derek, who was faithfully backing
me--if not to my own career ... and already I had succeeded in
interesting Mitchell Kennerley, the new young publisher, in my effort.
After the book was disposed of ... then Europe ... then London ... then
Paris, and all the large life of the brilliant world of intellect and
literature that awaited me.
But, at the present, one small, dainty, dark woman unconsciously stood
in my pathway. I looked into Hildreth Baxter's face with caution,
strangely disquieted, but proud to be outwardly self-possessed.
"Let's _us_ take a walk," she suggested.
"No, I must go to my tent and write!"
"Oh, come now ... don't you be like Mubby!... that's the way _he_
talks."
"All right," I assented, amazed at her directness, "I'll put my work by
for the day--though the entire dialogue of the three Galilean fishermen
about the miracle of the great draught of fishes is at this very moment
burning in my brain."
She laid her hand lightly, but with an electric contact, on the bend of
my arm, and off we started, into the inviting fields.
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