"There's always tomorrow," I ventured ironically.
"Yes, and I'm going to make the most of it." His eyes were bright with the dream of a new hope; or rather, the old hope eternally redreamed. He glanced at the table. "I'll have to have that typewriter fixed up."
"Yes, tomorrow, if I can spare the time." He hadn't noticed my sarcasm.
"Why, is your day all taken up?" I asked, marvelling at his imagination.
"Pretty well so." He put on an air of importance. "I saw Edwards today"--Edwards was a friend of his who had risen to be an editor on one of the big morning papers--"and he's found an opening for me--a real opening which will give me an opportunity to show them all I'm still in the race."
"And you start in tomorrow?" I was dumbfounded.
"Yes, in the afternoon." His face was alive with energy. "Oh, I'll show them all, Art, that I'm still one of the best when I want to be. They've sneered at me long enough."