was. Jamey is always talking about greedy, well, I made Mannyâs letter just a little too obviously greedy for ten per cent. I simply omitted all genuine interest in reading another Vaughn, in giving the world another Vaughn, and made it moreâwanting to live off another Vaughn, wanting another taste of Vaughn gravy.
âJamey said to write Manny that he wasnât going to produce another Vaughn. I wrote Manny that Jamey wasnât going to sell another Vaughn through Manny. They had a gentlemenâs agreement, not a contract. I just told Manny that since Jamey no longer considered Manny a gentleman, the agreement was off. That will burn Manny up, the little snob; when he sees this story in print, heâll be so sore at the ungrateful old devil, he wonât be able to read!â
âBut if he does?â
âIf he does, Jamey wonât. What do we care if he does? If he does, it will simply confirm Jameyâs letter. Listen to me, Louis, if a jury of the most literate people in the world read your story, they would think Jamey wrote it.â
âJamey wonât think so.â
âJamey wonât read it.â Her genuine belief in his talent could not help but be beguiling; the ring of truth here reached Louis and put him off guard. Ethel, watching his face soften, began to talk of Jamey. âJamey wonât read modern literature. He thinks he is the last of the great ones; why bother with modern literature? Jamey wonât read letters. Jamey wonât see anyone. Jamey is stuck here in his own private desert island. All right. So be it. On his own head be it!â
Head on a platter, Louis thought, head in a hatbox.
âAre you angry with me, Louis? Donât be angry with me, be angry with a world where you have to sign Jameyâs name to your fine story to get it printed! Donât be angry with me.â
Louis nodded toward the letter. âIâm angry with one thing, EthelâIâm angry about the weeks I have to wait when I send a story to a magazine, and look at that! Four days to receive this story, to read it, to buy it, to wire you!â
âThatâs because of Jameyâs reputation.â
âHe worked for his reputation, Ethel. He earned it.â
âBut this wonât hurt Jameyâs reputation, Louis! This story will help Jameyâs reputation, although your concern with it seems rather quixotic to me. He isnât concerned with your troubles. He wonât help your mother.â
Louis shrugged. âWell, this wonât help her, either.â He flicked the telegram with his finger. âIâm as big a sucker for a kind word as the next one, but in case you didnât notice, this wonât help my mother, either.â
âIt wonât?â She read the wire again. âOh, dear, they pay on publication, donât they? Isnât that a shame,â she said, âisnât that a shame?â She drew her eyebrows together. âI could write and ask them to send the five thousand now. They would do it, but they would think it so strange that Jamey should ask for it. He never has, before. Now, should we take the chance of arousing suspicion, Louis?â She saw the corner of his mouth lift in a sad smile. âLouis, they wonât keep a Vaughn story hanging around their safe. Theyâll publish it immediately, youâll see. The check may come any day, Louis. You must wait for it. It would be cruel to go back to your mother empty-handed when, if you just wait a little while, you could take five thousand dollars back with you.â
He was still smiling. He didnât say, âYou could send it to me, Ethel. I could go to New York and you could send me the check.â He knew damned well that she wouldnât, but he didnât ask himself why she wouldnât, why it was important for her that he stay here. He was satisfied with lonely, pathetic, badly treated, humiliated, as