"And look here, he said, showing her the letter from the
Centennial Company. "They turned down my book, but see what they
say.
"Quite an unusual order of merit!" cried Travis. "Why, that's
fine! Why didn't you show this to me before?--and asking you like
this to write them a novel of adventure! What MORE can you want?
Oh!" she exclaimed impatiently, "that's so like you; you would
tell everybody about your reverses, and carry on about them
yourself, but never say a word when you get a little boom. Have
you an idea for a thirty-thousand-word novel? Wouldn't that
diver's story do?"
"No, there's not enough in that for thirty thousand words. I
haven't any idea at all--never wrote a story of adventure--never
wrote anything longer than six thousand words. But I'll keep my
eye open for something that will do. By the way--by Jove! Travis,
where are we?"
They looked briskly around them, and the bustling, breezy water-
front faded from their recollections. They were in a world of
narrow streets, of galleries and overhanging balconies. Craziest
structures, riddled and honeycombed with stairways and passages,
shut out the sky, though here and there rose a building of
extraordinary richness and most elaborate ornamentation. Color
was everywhere. A thousand little notes of green and yellow, of
vermilion and sky blue, assaulted the eye. Here it was a doorway,
here a vivid glint of cloth or hanging, here a huge scarlet sign
lettered with gold, and here a kaleidoscopic effect in the
garments of a passer-by.
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