She picked it up and found it was a letter from the publishers of
the book. Linda's eyes widened suddenly as she read:
MY DEAR STRONG:
Sending you a line of congratulations. You have gone to the head
of the list of "best sellers" among medical works, and the cheque
I draw you for the past six months' royalties will be
considerably larger than that which goes to your most esteemed
contemporary on your chosen subject.
Very truly yours,
The signature was that of Frederic Dickman, the editor of one of
the biggest publishing houses of the country.
"Hm," she said to herself softly. "Now that is a queer thing.
That letter was written nearly five years ago. I don't know why
I never thought of royalties since Daddy went. I frequently
heard him mention them before. I suppose they're being paid to
John Gilman as administrator, or to the Consolidated Bank, and
cared for with Father's other business. There's no reason why
these books should not keep on selling. There are probably the
same number of young men, if not a greater number, studying
medicine every year. I wonder now, about these royalties. I
must do some thinking."
Then Linda began to examine books more carefully than before.
The letter she carried with her when she went to her room; but
she made a point of being on the lawn that evening when John
Gilman came, and after talking to him a few minutes, she said
very casually: "John, as Father's administrator, does a royalty
from his medical books come to you?"
"No," said Gilman.
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