Some day I will give you my version." The little man smiled over his butterfly, took out a wallet, something on the pattern of a fisherman's, and put the new-found specimen into one of the mica compartments, in which other dead butterflies of variant beauty reposed.
"So I become a private secretary, till the time offers something better." Breitmann stared at the sea.
"I am sorry.

I wish I could help you.

Better let me try." Fitzgerald stirred his coffee.

"You are convinced that there is some cabal working against you in the newspaper business?
That seems strange.
Some of them must have heard of your work--London, Paris, Berlin.

Have you tried them all ?" "Yes.