“How did you like Constantinople? Authentic? I had to read up on Constantinople in Jamey’s encyclopedia.” “Jamey’s been to Constantinople; Jamey’s been everywhere. But the story is so good it frightens me, Louis!” He said quietly, “Why does it frighten you?” “It frightens me because it is so good, because it is so Jamey—because when he reads it he should want to help you in every way he possibly can—and I don’t think he will.” “We’ll give him a chance, Ethel.” “One thing, Louis, you wrote it in longhand. When you read it to Jamey, you don’t want to stumble and ruin the effect.” “I know. I have no typewriter.” “You have nothing!” She spoke with vehemence, bringing up again his meager home, his drunken father, the beatings that had been his patrimony; she glanced around the beautiful room, bringing all Jamey’s riches to mind, all his advantages, all the endowments besides talents that he had been given. Louis said, “Plenty of people have plenty of nothing.
