See? And our work,' he added laughingly, 'won't go for nothing
either, because our thought will drop into another mind somewhere that
will accomplish the thing far better than I could have accomplished
it.'
Minks made an odd gesture, as who should say this might not be true.
He did not venture upon speech, however. This new plan must be very
wonderful, was all he thought just then. His faith in his employer's
genius was complete.
'And in due time you shall hear all about it. Have a little patience.
Perhaps you'll get it out of my thoughts before I tell it to you,' he
smiled, 'but perhaps you won't. I can only tell you just now that it
has beauty in it---a beauty of the stars.'
Yet what his bigger Scheme was he really had no clear idea. He felt it
coming-that was all!
And with that Minks had to be content. This was dismissal. Good-nights
were said, and the secretary went out into the street.
'Go to a comfortable hotel,' was the last thing he heard, 'and put it
down to me, of course. Sleep well, sleep well. To-morrow at two
o'clock will do.'
Minks strolled home, walking upon air. The sky was brilliant with its
gorgeous constellations--the beauty of the stars. Poems blazed upon
him. But he was too excited to compose. Even first lines evaded
capture. 'Stars,' besides, was a dreadful word to rhyme with, for all
its charm and loveliness.
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