V

My dear, dearest Dorry: When I sit down to write to you there is always so much I want to say that I never know where to begin, and in the end I seem to tell you nothing at all except that I love you, which you have heard so much I am always afraid you will grow tired of hearing it again. Then I turn cold at the thought, and rewrite the letter to leave out some of the times, but before I am done I find them all in again somewhere else; so it is no use, you see, and I generally send the first letter, after all. Then, when it is gone I want it back, though I don't knowwhether I want it to take out some of the times I've said it, or to put in some more that I didn't say."Oh, Dorry dear, I do love you, and often when I have thought of you in your beautiful home surrounded by luxury, and then remembered that I have asked you to leave it all and cast your fortunes with a chap whose fortunes depend on the whim of the public and the fancy of the art editor, it has made me feel so guilty that I have more than once put into those letters I didn't send something about letting you take it all back and not allowing you to make such a sacrifice for me, even though you are true and noble and willing."And then I didn't send those letters, and I'm glad now that I didn't, for the hard days are going to be over soon, and I feel that I shall be able to offer you comforts that will, perhaps, keep you from regretting altogether those you have left behind. I am glad you are so enthusiastic too, now, about the paper, though you didn't feel just that way at the start, andafter I got your first letter I had to talk the scheme all over again with Barry and Perny and Van to get back my courage and to be sure the Bible premium was all right."You know, Dorry, that money is a great thing, or at least you don't know, because you never had to do without it, but it is, and especially here where it is so hard to get, and where it takes so much of it to live even respectably. All that you have so often said about the bohemian life is fine and beautiful, and true in a way, too, but there are unpleasant phases of it as well. The struggle is very hard sometimes, and even Perny and Van, who do not need much money, and who will never be anything different from what they are now, even they are glad that they will be worth a million at least by this time next year."Perny has some property out West that he'll be able to hire somebody to take off his hands then, and Van wants to buy another old bureau that we saw yesterday at an antique-shop, though he alreadyhas two, and nothing in them except fishing-tackle that he gets every spring before it is time to go, and never uses. Then, Van thinks he'd like a house to keep his bureaus in, too, and Perny wants a place where he can have whatever he likes to eat, and a lot of people to help him eat it, while he recites his poetry to them."Youknowwhat I want a house for—a house that shall be a home for you and for me, and where, in the soft light of dim, quiet rooms, I shall sit by you and talk and listen while time slips on. Do you remember how the time used to fly when we were together? It seemed always as if some one must be turning the clock ahead for a joke. I am going to make a picture some day of two Lovers, and on the mantel above them Cupid laughing and turning up the clock-hands. We will make that picture together next year, for you will slip in and look over my shoulder, and you will take the pen or the brush and touch here and there; and the editors will like my pictures better because of those touches; and when they are printed in thebooks and papers I will sit dreaming over my own work because it will not be all mine, but part Dorry's, too."I have never told Perny and Van anything about you, because I have never quite found the opportunity to do it in the way I would like. But I think sometimes they suspect, for the other day, when we went out to look at houses, Perny said he didn't suppose I'd want my house very close to two old hardened sinners like them. Then we came to a vacant lot that was just about large enough for three houses, and I said we wouldn't buy houses at all, but would buy the lot and build there side by side and just to suit us. And I said we would have our studios on the same floor of each, and opening through into each other as they do now, and that Perny's should be between, because we both illustrate his work sometimes, and that then we would be able to hire editors to run the 'Whole Family,' and we would work at the kind of work we liked to do and at no other. And I said that evenings we would sit together and talk just as we do now, andyou would be there, too—though, of course, I didn't say that, but I know they understood and liked it, and you would like it too, sweetheart, for you have said so."And then Van said, 'Bully, old man!' and Perny didn't say anything, but he put his arms over Van and me when we came to the stairs, and we went up and took a look at my picture before dark. Perny wants me to finish it and sell it to get the money to put into the paper, and says he is going to buy it back with the first returns that come, to hang over his desk when we get into our new houses. But he isn't, because we are going to give it to him, you and I, when you come, and then we will all go together and try to make the originals of it happier because we are so happy ourselves. The money I have been saving will be enough, I am sure, to pay my share in starting the paper, for we will only have a few little engraving and composition and stationery bills and postage, and maybe some salaries to pay, before the returns begin to come in. But I am going to finish the picture anyway,so's to have it ready, and Perny and Van both say it is the best thing, so far, I have ever done. We don't any of us work as much as we did, but then it has taken such a lot of time to plan for the paper that we couldn't, and, after all, a few dollars invested that way now will count so much for us all by and by. Perny is working at editing, too, a good deal, and Van and I help. We have already got some 'copy' at the printer's, and Van and I have designed some department headings and a title-head that I will send you proofs of as soon as we get them engraved. We are going to have a beautiful paper, and if we can only get presses to print them fast enough when the first issue goes out in November, we will have two or three million circulation anyway by the first of the year."Iknowwe will now, even if I have ever had any doubts of it before. I know, because we have a new scheme that simplycannot fail. I can't tell you just what it is in this letter, because I don't altogether understand it myself yet, but Van does, and Perny, for it is Van's scheme this time,and Perny helped him work it out. We are going to 'spring' it on Barry to-morrow night, and it simply beats the premium idea to death, so Perny says, and he didn't sleep a wink all night thinking about it, nor Van either, and they have been explaining it to each other all day until I don't know 'where I'm at'; but they do, and they are sitting outside now, smoking and figuring up how many people there are in the world who read English. It is calledCASH FOR NAMES, and will catch them all,—every one,—so Perny says; and as soon as we get it type-written I will send you a copy, so you can see just how great it is."And now, Dorry dear, I haven't told you anything at all, though I have written a long letter, and there is so much you would rather hear than all the things I have said. When I write I only think of you, Dorry, and how I hunger to see your beautiful face, and how long the time will be until I shall take you in my arms and never let you go again. Oh, sweetheart, I never,nevercould give you up, unless,of course, something dreadful should happen, such as my going blind or being run over and half killed by a cable car, or if the paper should fail and wreck us all, which I know can't happen now. I have thought I ought to, sometimes, for your sake, but I know now I never could have done it, for, sleeping or waking, I am, Dorothy, through all eternity, your

"Oh, Dorry dear, I do love you, and often when I have thought of you in your beautiful home surrounded by luxury, and then remembered that I have asked you to leave it all and cast your fortunes with a chap whose fortunes depend on the whim of the public and the fancy of the art editor, it has made me feel so guilty that I have more than once put into those letters I didn't send something about letting you take it all back and not allowing you to make such a sacrifice for me, even though you are true and noble and willing.

"And then I didn't send those letters, and I'm glad now that I didn't, for the hard days are going to be over soon, and I feel that I shall be able to offer you comforts that will, perhaps, keep you from regretting altogether those you have left behind. I am glad you are so enthusiastic too, now, about the paper, though you didn't feel just that way at the start, andafter I got your first letter I had to talk the scheme all over again with Barry and Perny and Van to get back my courage and to be sure the Bible premium was all right.

"You know, Dorry, that money is a great thing, or at least you don't know, because you never had to do without it, but it is, and especially here where it is so hard to get, and where it takes so much of it to live even respectably. All that you have so often said about the bohemian life is fine and beautiful, and true in a way, too, but there are unpleasant phases of it as well. The struggle is very hard sometimes, and even Perny and Van, who do not need much money, and who will never be anything different from what they are now, even they are glad that they will be worth a million at least by this time next year.

"Perny has some property out West that he'll be able to hire somebody to take off his hands then, and Van wants to buy another old bureau that we saw yesterday at an antique-shop, though he alreadyhas two, and nothing in them except fishing-tackle that he gets every spring before it is time to go, and never uses. Then, Van thinks he'd like a house to keep his bureaus in, too, and Perny wants a place where he can have whatever he likes to eat, and a lot of people to help him eat it, while he recites his poetry to them.

"Youknowwhat I want a house for—a house that shall be a home for you and for me, and where, in the soft light of dim, quiet rooms, I shall sit by you and talk and listen while time slips on. Do you remember how the time used to fly when we were together? It seemed always as if some one must be turning the clock ahead for a joke. I am going to make a picture some day of two Lovers, and on the mantel above them Cupid laughing and turning up the clock-hands. We will make that picture together next year, for you will slip in and look over my shoulder, and you will take the pen or the brush and touch here and there; and the editors will like my pictures better because of those touches; and when they are printed in thebooks and papers I will sit dreaming over my own work because it will not be all mine, but part Dorry's, too.

"I have never told Perny and Van anything about you, because I have never quite found the opportunity to do it in the way I would like. But I think sometimes they suspect, for the other day, when we went out to look at houses, Perny said he didn't suppose I'd want my house very close to two old hardened sinners like them. Then we came to a vacant lot that was just about large enough for three houses, and I said we wouldn't buy houses at all, but would buy the lot and build there side by side and just to suit us. And I said we would have our studios on the same floor of each, and opening through into each other as they do now, and that Perny's should be between, because we both illustrate his work sometimes, and that then we would be able to hire editors to run the 'Whole Family,' and we would work at the kind of work we liked to do and at no other. And I said that evenings we would sit together and talk just as we do now, andyou would be there, too—though, of course, I didn't say that, but I know they understood and liked it, and you would like it too, sweetheart, for you have said so.

"And then Van said, 'Bully, old man!' and Perny didn't say anything, but he put his arms over Van and me when we came to the stairs, and we went up and took a look at my picture before dark. Perny wants me to finish it and sell it to get the money to put into the paper, and says he is going to buy it back with the first returns that come, to hang over his desk when we get into our new houses. But he isn't, because we are going to give it to him, you and I, when you come, and then we will all go together and try to make the originals of it happier because we are so happy ourselves. The money I have been saving will be enough, I am sure, to pay my share in starting the paper, for we will only have a few little engraving and composition and stationery bills and postage, and maybe some salaries to pay, before the returns begin to come in. But I am going to finish the picture anyway,so's to have it ready, and Perny and Van both say it is the best thing, so far, I have ever done. We don't any of us work as much as we did, but then it has taken such a lot of time to plan for the paper that we couldn't, and, after all, a few dollars invested that way now will count so much for us all by and by. Perny is working at editing, too, a good deal, and Van and I help. We have already got some 'copy' at the printer's, and Van and I have designed some department headings and a title-head that I will send you proofs of as soon as we get them engraved. We are going to have a beautiful paper, and if we can only get presses to print them fast enough when the first issue goes out in November, we will have two or three million circulation anyway by the first of the year.

"Iknowwe will now, even if I have ever had any doubts of it before. I know, because we have a new scheme that simplycannot fail. I can't tell you just what it is in this letter, because I don't altogether understand it myself yet, but Van does, and Perny, for it is Van's scheme this time,and Perny helped him work it out. We are going to 'spring' it on Barry to-morrow night, and it simply beats the premium idea to death, so Perny says, and he didn't sleep a wink all night thinking about it, nor Van either, and they have been explaining it to each other all day until I don't know 'where I'm at'; but they do, and they are sitting outside now, smoking and figuring up how many people there are in the world who read English. It is calledCASH FOR NAMES, and will catch them all,—every one,—so Perny says; and as soon as we get it type-written I will send you a copy, so you can see just how great it is.

"And now, Dorry dear, I haven't told you anything at all, though I have written a long letter, and there is so much you would rather hear than all the things I have said. When I write I only think of you, Dorry, and how I hunger to see your beautiful face, and how long the time will be until I shall take you in my arms and never let you go again. Oh, sweetheart, I never,nevercould give you up, unless,of course, something dreadful should happen, such as my going blind or being run over and half killed by a cable car, or if the paper should fail and wreck us all, which I know can't happen now. I have thought I ought to, sometimes, for your sake, but I know now I never could have done it, for, sleeping or waking, I am, Dorothy, through all eternity, your

"True."

The air was charged with a burden of mystery and moment when the three who strove together in rooms near Union Square joined the man who did something in an editorial way at the latter's office, and proceeded with him to the Grand Union restaurant.

"We have a tale to unfold that will make your hair curl," said Perner, as they stepped out on the lighted street. "Van has had an inspiration. Premiums are not in it with this!"

"By gad, no!" agreed Livingstone. "It's the greatest thing yet!"

"Good!" shouted Barrifield, above the crash of the street. "Good!"

Van Dorn modestly remained silent. Perner made an effort to keep up the conversation, but the roar of the cobble made results unsatisfactory and difficult. It was a good mile to the Grand Union, but Barrifield explainedsotto voceas they entered that it was the only place for steamed soft clams in town. Soft clams appealed to Perner, and any lingering doubts he may have had of Barrifield's ability as business manager disappeared at this statement. Livingstone, who was not quite so tall as the others, had kept up with some difficulty, and was puffing a little as they seated themselves at a table in one corner.

"I know now what it means to start a paper," he observed reflectively. "It means first to walk a good ways and then eat something. That's what we've been doing ever since we started."

"Better eat while we've got a chance," said Van Dorn. "If the 'Whole Family' fails we'll walk without eating."

"We can afford to eat on Van's new scheme," said Perner. "It's worth it."

Barrifield laughed comfortably.

"What is your scheme?" he asked, seeing that Perner was waiting anxiously to unload.

"Wait," interrupted Van Dorn. "Here's the waiter. Let's give the order, and then we'll have a couple of hours to talk while he's catching the clams."

Perner subsided, and each seized a bill of fare, which was studied with stern solemnity for some moments. Dinner was a matter of perhaps more respectful consideration with these rather prosperous bohemians than even the new paper, which they still regarded, and possibly with some reason, as a sort of farce, or than the Muses, whom they were inclined to woo somewhat cavalierly.

"I should think two portions of clams would be enough," suggested Van Dorn, at length; "then we can have something solid in the way of meat and things."

Perner protested.

"Oh, pshaw, Van! I want a full portion myself, and Barry wants one, too; don't you, Barry?"

Barrifield, who had come from a coast where pie and clams are the natural heritage, suggested that, as the portions here were something less than a peck each, they might compromise on three. This Perner reluctantly agreed to, and the usual extra sirloin with mushrooms was added. Pie was then selected by Perner and Barrifield, and various delicacies by the others.

"A large pot of coffee," concluded Van Dorn.

"Ale with the clams," suggested Livingstone. The others nodded.

"Martinis first," interrupted Perner. Then to the waiter, "Four Martinis—and don't be all night getting them here."

"Rochefort, and Panetela cigars with the coffee," supplemented Barrifield.

"Cigarettes for me," corrected Livingstone, "Turkish Sultanas, small package, gold tips."

There was a note of gold in the atmosphere. The order was not prodigal, but there was an unstinted go-as-you-please manner about it which made thewaiter bow and vanish hastily. Barrifield turned to Perner.

"Now," he said, "what's your great scheme?"

Perner had already drawn a folded type-written sheet from his inside coat pocket.

"It's Van's idea," he said, with becoming modesty. "I may have elaborated it some and put it into words, that's all. But it's simply tremendous! Premiums have been done. Cameras and watches have been given with twelve papers of bluing or needles, but this thing has never been done by anybody—at least, not in this form."

"That's right!" said Livingstone.

"No, sir, old man; I don't believe it has," confessed Van Dorn, with some reluctance at doing justice to his own conception.

Barrifield looked from one to the other with large expectancy in his eyes.

"Let's hear it," he said anxiously.

Perner unfolded the paper and glanced at the tables about them to see that no onewas listening. Then he began to read in a low, earnest voice:

"The proprietors of the 'Whole Family,' the greatest and most magnificent weekly paper ever published, make to the whole English-speaking world the following unheard-of offer.

"I got that style of eloquence from Frisby's advertisements," Perner paused to explain. "It catches 'em, you know." The others nodded. Perner continued:

"To any one, old or young, in any part of the globe, who will send us a list of twenty names of men or women, boys or girls, likely to be interested in the most beautiful, the most superb, illustrated family weekly ever published, we will send our marvelous paper, the 'Whole Family,' for four consecutive weeks free of charge, and we will pay the sender

"added to our subscription-books on or before November 1, 1897. Remember, there is no canvassing! You select twenty good names and sendthem to us by letter or postal card. We do the rest. If you pick names of twenty good people we will get twenty subscribers, and you will get

"besides our matchless paper free for one month! Remember! Five dollars for twenty names—no more!"

Perner finished reading and looked steadily at Barrifield, as did Van Dorn and Livingstone. Barrifield was reflecting deeply with closed eyes.

"They send in the names of twenty people," he meditated; "we mail sample copies to them, and pay the sender twenty-five cents for each one that subscribes. We don't pay till they subscribe, do we?"

"Why, no, of course not!" Perner was slightly annoyed that Barrifield did not catch the scheme instantly, though it had taken him and Van Dorn two full days to become entirely clear on it themselves. "You see," he continued, "we'll send sample copies to each of these names for two weeks. The sender of the names will alsobe getting his sample copies, and knowing that twenty-five cents is to come from every subscriber, he'll talk up the paper among others. He'll be an agent without knowing it. The unpleasant feature of soliciting subscribers will be all done away with. He'll pick the best names, of course, in the first place—people that he knows are dead sure to take the paper. We'll get up a paper they can'thelptaking. He'll get five dollars in cash, and we'll get twenty subscribers to the 'Whole Family.'"

"Twenty-one," corrected Van Dorn. "The sender of the names will subscribe, of course—he'll have to, as an example to the others."

"Perny's going to send him a special confidential circular," put in Livingstone, "thanking him for his interest and calling him 'Dear Friend.'"

"And a hundred thousand people will send lists," said Perner. "A hundred thousand lists with twenty names to the list will be two million names. Every one of them will subscribe—every one of them!But say they don't—say, to be on the safe side, that onlytenof them subscribe before November 1; say that onlyfiveof them do. There's one half-million subscribers to start with—one half-million subscribers on the first day of November, when we mail our first regular subscription issue! What do you think of that?"

It was just the sort of scheme to appeal to Barrifield. As the fascination of it dawned upon him he regarded wonderingly each of the conspirators in turn.

"I think," he said at last, with slow emphasis and gravity, "I think it simplytre-mendous!"

Van Dorn's eyes glistened, and Livingstone leaned forward as if to speak. Perner could scarcely keep his seat.

"Wait, then," he said jubilantly, "wait till you hear the rest of it! That's only the beginning. Listen to this!"

"'Sh!" cautioned Van Dorn, glancing at the tables near them, some of whose occupants seemed attracted by the evident excitement of their neighbors. Perner haddrawn forth a second paper, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

"This," he said, "is the second chapter and contains the climax. The one I just read will appear in outside papers before our first issue is out. This will appear in our own sample copies, and is what will clench and make subscribers of every name that comes. Listen!

"Any boy or girl, man or woman, in any part of the world, who shall become a subscriber to the 'Whole Family'—the greatest, cheapest, and most beautiful weekly paper ever published—may send, with his or her subscription price of one dollar, a list of twenty names of those most likely to be interested in this marvelous home paper, and receive

"added to our subscription list before December 1 of the present year. By selecting the best names before they are taken by others, and subscribingnow, you are certain to get your money back and a snug sum for Christmas besides! Don't wait a moment! Select sure winners and send them to uswith the small subscription price of a dollar! You get five for one in return, and the most glorious paper ever printed besides!"

Perner paused and looked straight at Barrifield. The big blond dreamer was regarding them in a dazed way.

"That means," he said at last, huskily, "another list of names with each of our half-million or million subscriptions, and then—"

"And then," said Van Dorn, unable to hold in another second, "sample copies and the same inducements to the new names for another month, and the same to the names these send for still another month, and so on until we have the whole English-reading world on our subscription list, and there are no more names to send, except as people are born and grow up. There are fifteen million English-speaking families in the United States, not to mention Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand, India, and South Africa, and we'll have them all in a year! In a year! Every one of them!"

"In a year!" said Perner. "We'll havethem insix months! Less! Why," he continued excitedly, "even starting with but a single unit and doubling, you get a million with twenty multiplications, and starting, as we will, with half a million or more names to begin with, and getting twenty new names for each on the next round, and so continuing, we'd have—allowing that only one fourth of them subscribe—we'd have fifty million subscribers—if there were that many in the universe—in three rounds! Six months! Why, in less than a month people will be scratching the world with garden-rakes to find anybody that isn't already a subscriber, and even in China and the interior of Africa the 'Whole Family' will have become the great civilizer and diffuser of the English tongue."

Livingstone's face flushed and paled by turns, and his eyes sparkled.

"By gad, yes!" he said. "By gad!"

It was the last word. In the contemplation of this stupendous proposition no one could utter another syllable.

The Martinis came on just then, andwent down with a hot sizzle. Barrifield was first to recover his voice. He was slow and deliberate again, though still gasping a little, perhaps from the cocktail.

"Of course you know, fellows," he said, with an air of profound reflection, "that this plan is going to take a little more money. It involves sending out a large number of sample copies, and there'll be some little clerk hire and postage to pay before the money comes in. It won't be much extra, of course,—a few hundred dollars, perhaps,—but we must be prompt paying our help. And then, we want to have a bank-account. Frisby's scheme didn't call for any outlay, you see, until the money began to come, and Frisby started without a dollar. He didn't—"

"Yes, I know," interrupted Perner; "but Frisby's scheme was new then, and might not work so well now. We've got another and a better one than Frisby or anybody else ever had before. Even if it does take a little more money at the start, any one of us can earn more in a week than it takes to pay all the clerks we'll need."

"Why, yes," said Livingstone; "and we'll do most of the paper ourselves, so we'll save that."

"We've got a great combination, boys," said Barrifield—"great!"

In the brief lull that followed this statement, which so fully expressed the feeling of all present, Perner took occasion to go somewhat into detail.

"In the first place," he said, "we're going to be flooded with names. We'll have our paper all made up and start the presses running at the rate of a hundred thousand a day the week before our advertising appears—not sooner than that, because we want money to be coming in as soon as possible after the papers are printed."

Perner paused to appreciate the admiring glances of the others. His ten years' business experience was crystallizing itself into a beautiful system.

"We'll have our clerks," he continued, "all ready with the books—a book for each State—to enter the names as soon as the answers begin to come. We must haveone distributing clerk with a little post-office arrangement to assort the letters and cards into States and give them to the others. These will enter them and turn them over to another set of clerks, who will address wrappers from the letters and cards themselves. Then the wrappers will go to another set of clerks, who will wrap the papers and mail them."

The admiration for Perner grew. It seemed simplicity itself.

"One hundred thousand a day," he continued, "will give us two million papers in about three weeks. That'll be the first round of the first issue. Before those are half out we will be getting subscriptions like hot cakes, and we'll have to double our force to handle them. But subscriptions mean money, and with twenty or thirty thousand dollars a day coming in, we'll have money to double them up with."

"If the subscriptions don't come it will double us up," laughed Van Dorn.

As for Barrifield, he seemed stupefied. He had started the wind, but the cycloneit had grown to was whirling him along faster than he could follow; also the memory of Frisby and Bibles still clung to him somewhat, despite this new and startling method of taking fortune by storm. He started to speak, but Perner, who had taken on fuel enough for a long run, was too quick for him.

"When the first round of the first issue has been going out one day," he said with conviction, "those subscriptions will begin to come. Each subscription will bring twenty new names, and that'll mean another round of the first issue, and the checking off in the books of the people that have subscribed, showing just who sent them and what he is entitled to in cash."

"We'll send it to him in a check," said Van Dorn. "Checks always look well."

"Then," continued Perner, "when these new names begin to come, we'll commence on the third round of the first issue to the names they send, and so on to a fourth and even a fifth. We must send as many rounds of the first issue as possible,for it contains the first chapters of our serials."

"That's so!" interjected Livingstone, "it does!"

"Of course, our first and second issues," Perner went on, "will have to be dated ahead, because we'll start on them about the 1st of October. But the third issue can come in in regular place, and by the time we get to the third round of the first issue, and the second round of the second issue, and the first round of the third issue, we'll have all the names in this country; and by the second round of the third issue they will all be on our subscription books, and we'll have—even counting that only one out of four families subscribe—we'll have four million subscribers, and at least three million dollars in the bank to get out the paper with for a year, to say nothing of the advertisements, which will bring in on a circulation like that at least twelve thousand dollars a page, or, allowing three pages, about one million eight hundred thousand dollars a year in round numbers."

The clams had come and gone, and themeat had been served. Barrifield made a feeble attempt to do the honors, and Livingstone shaped his lips as if to speak. Neither effort was successful. The four sat silent, looking far beyond the fear of penury and the dreams of avarice into a land where mountains were banked with jewels and all the rivers ran gold. Indeed, the face of Livingstone seemed glorified by a sort of ecstasy. The revulsion fell first upon Van Dorn, and wakened in him that spirit of the ludicrous which was never far distant from any of them.

"It's all right, of course," he began with assumed gravity. "We're certain to be millionaires when we get to going, but what I want to know is whether, in the meantime, we can stand off the printer."

The others laughed.

"You see, I know printers," continued Van Dorn. "I had a cousin who was a printer, and I've seen fellows try to stand him off. He nearly always had his sleeves rolled up, and when a man came to stand him off, he used to walk back to the sink,with the fellow following and talking; and my cousin would wash his hands under the tap while he listened, and then wipe them on the towel that hung over it. You never saw a printer's towel, did you? Well, it isn't a very cheerful thing, and my cousin was just about as cheerful as it was. He'd stand there and listen, and wipe and listen, and not say anything, while the fellow'd talk and talk and look at that towel that hadn't been washed since the shop opened. Then he'd look at my cousin and say some of the things over again in a discouraged sort of a way, and commence to miss connection and slip cogs, and pretty soon he'd sneak off, and my cousin would give one more wipe on the paleozoic towel, and then walk back and say a few things to the press-boys that would knock chunks out of the imposing-stone. Now, what I want to know is if we can go to that fellow with his sleeves rolled up and get the second round of the first issue or the first round of any old issue without the money down."

Van Dorn's remarks slackened the tensionsomewhat, and after considerable banter all around, Perner explained that they would only want accommodation on a hundred thousand copies or so of the first round of the first issue for a few days until subscriptions began to flow in. Frisby, he reminded them, had found no difficulty in getting a million copies without a dollar, and Perner felt sure that, with the present competition, almost any of the big printing-houses would hug their knees, as Barry had put it, to get the work. There would be some small bills for stationery and composition right at the start, perhaps some for the engraving. These they would discount and settle on presentation.

"We'll have to pay our advertising man's salary, too," he said, "and with this scheme we want to get a good, energetic man and start him out soliciting at the earliest possible moment. He can get enough contracts on the basis of even a million circulation to pay for all the rounds of the first issue, and we can use those contracts as a basis of credit, too, if we have to."

This remark created a visible sensation and a fresh regard for Perner's business experience and energy, which was gradually becoming the backbone of the whole enterprise. Barrifield meantime had pulled himself together and was smoking with his usual deliberation.

"Boys," he said, "we've got the biggest thing on earth. We could win either way, hands down—either with premiums or cash for names. But we want to be certain—certain! We don't want any possibility of failure. And to make assurance doubly sure, I am in favor of using both."

This made something of a sensation. Perner showed combative tendencies.

"We can't afford it, Barry," he said with conviction. "We are already giving twenty-five cents out of our dollar to the fellow who sends the names, and if we give even fifty cents more for a premium we'll have only twenty-five cents left."

Barrifield leaned back and closed his eyes.

"We could afford it," he said, "if we didn't have five cents left. Counting even only a million and a half a year return from the advertising, we could, by producing the papers in such quantity, still pay all expenses and have a hundred thousand or so apiece left at the end of the year. It isn't a good plan to try to make too much the first year. It invites competition. I believe in going moderately and being sure—don't you, fellows?" turning to Van Dorn and Livingstone.

Van Dorn looked over at Perner anxiously.

"I shouldn't wonder if Barry was right, old man," he said in a conciliatory tone.

"We don't have to pay for premiums, you know, until we have money coming in to do it with," added Barrifield.

"That's so," said Livingstone,—"that's so! We'll have both! Suppose we go now, fellows," he added, rather anxiously; "I've got a letter to write."

"Stony's always got a letter to write," commented Van Dorn.

The others nodded, but said nothing.

They arose from the table in vast friendship with each other. The repast had been bountiful. In after days it was referred to as the great dinner.

Also—sometimes—as the last dinner.

Dear old True: I am simply in a whirl. The copies you sent of the 'cash for names' circulation plan have set me to going till my feet no longer seem to touch anything. I have covered all my stationery with figures, and my desk fairly reeks with millions. You know I never cared much for figures before, and I was never very good at them when we went to school together, especially fractions; but there are no fractions about this—it's all just tens and hundreds and thousands and millions,—a perfect wilderness of decimals,—and I enjoy them so muchthat I get up early in the morning to play with them. I have taken all the figures you sent me, showing the cost of paper and printing and so on, and calculated over and over, and then divided by two, and sometimes three to be on the safe side, and even then I don't know what we shall do with all the money."I'll tell you, True—we'll build things. We'll build hospitals and asylums and libraries, and first of all we'll build a great place where those poor men who now get a cup of coffee and a loaf of bread can get a good warm meal and have a bed to sleep in afterward. And we'll build one like it for poor women, too. And then, by and by, we'll build a great, beautiful place where artists and writers, when they get old, can live in ease and comfort, and not have anything to pay unless they are able. Not in the way of charity, I mean, but as the just reward that wealth owes to those who have given their years and strength to make the world better and happier. Only, wealth never understands and realizes its debt. But wewill, True, because we know, and Van and Perny will help, and Barry, too. And then, when we have grown old, perhaps we will go there to stay. I am not quite sure about that, but it would be beautiful, I know, for it would be like the houses we are going to have side by side, only on a larger scale; and then, it would be in the country, where there are green fields and fresh air and big trees and clear brooks. We will have beautiful grounds reaching in every direction, like those around Windsor Castle, that I once saw when in England. And everybody will do as they please, and read and write and paint what they like, or sit in the sun and shade, and so drift out of life as gently as the brown leaf falls and floats out to the eternal sea."I do not mean to grow poetic, True, but I have always thought about such a place as that, and to me it has seemed just as I have tried to make it appear to you. I know you will understand, too, and your artist fancy will conceive things of which I do not even dream. I never hoped that it could be possible for me to realize thisvision, though it has always been very near my heart, and once I even spoke about it to papa. But then, he isn't rich like that, and, besides, our family is large and the boys have to be started in life."I was perfectly crazy at first to tell papa about the 'cash for names' plan, and should have done so if you hadn't pledged me to solemn secrecy. Of course, I know how dangerous it would be for any other paper to find it out before you get started, but I know papa would not tell a soul if I told him not to. Only I am glad now that I couldn't, for he is so conservative, you know, in his business methods that I am sure he would have laughed at the plan, and perhaps proved to me in some way that it wasn't practical— I mean, of course, he might havemade mebelieve it wasn't practical, for he knows so much about business and is always so matter-of-fact that I can't argue with him at all. Then I should have been discouraged and uneasy, instead of overflowing with happiness and dreams."I am glad you are going to have agood man to solicit advertising right away; and how fine it is that he can get those cash contracts before the paper starts, so you can have ample means right from the first! It all seems so simple and easy now that I wonder people have not done these things long ago. But it is always that way—the simple things are the great ones and the last to be found out. It isn't often, either, that those who discover them get the benefit, and that seems too bad; but it is a comfort to feel that at last genius is to have its just reward, especially when it is the genius of those near and dear to us, and when through it so many others will be benefited and made happy, too."I am awfully interested in what you have told me now and then about your picture of the bread line, and the little sketch you made of it on the margin of your last letter is delightful. I hope you will not let it go unfinished, though I know, of course, you are very busy and have so much to think of. But painting will be a rest to you, sometimes, and a change; and then, I like to think of you atyour work, too. Besides, it must be completed when I come, you know, and that will be—well, no; I'm not quite ready to fix the exact date yet, because, you see, you will have so much to do for a while, even after the paper is started, that I think we would better wait until it is fairly under way before you try to leave, even if that should not be much before the holidays."We can wait and see, and when the time comes I shall be ready, for papa doesn't believe in grand weddings, nor I, either, and I shall have very little preparation to make. Some day, when the 'second round of the third issue' is off, and the 'first round of the fourth issue' is started, when the subscriptions are whirling in like snowflakes through which you are gliding smoothly and well to fortune, then you may write to me, True, that you are coming, and I will be ready. I know that June is the month for weddings, but it is always June in the heart where love is, and, besides, New York is at its best in winter and spring, and when summer really does come we can go where our fancy takes us."True, when you went away, and we said to each other that we would wait until you had made a place for yourself in the world,—until you had 'arrived,' as you called it,—the time of waiting seemed long. That was three years ago, but, after all, they have been swift, sweet years, even though we have not seen each other often. For little by little and step by step you did 'arrive,' until we both knew you had the solid ground of success under your feet. The joy of battle made the days go quickly to you, while the joy of watching you has been sweet to me. So you will not be impatient now, for this new triumph which will come still more quickly will make the weeks go even faster, and while it is not my best ambition for you, and only a means to an end, I still rejoice with you and am proud of you in it all. Good-by, True.

"I'll tell you, True—we'll build things. We'll build hospitals and asylums and libraries, and first of all we'll build a great place where those poor men who now get a cup of coffee and a loaf of bread can get a good warm meal and have a bed to sleep in afterward. And we'll build one like it for poor women, too. And then, by and by, we'll build a great, beautiful place where artists and writers, when they get old, can live in ease and comfort, and not have anything to pay unless they are able. Not in the way of charity, I mean, but as the just reward that wealth owes to those who have given their years and strength to make the world better and happier. Only, wealth never understands and realizes its debt. But wewill, True, because we know, and Van and Perny will help, and Barry, too. And then, when we have grown old, perhaps we will go there to stay. I am not quite sure about that, but it would be beautiful, I know, for it would be like the houses we are going to have side by side, only on a larger scale; and then, it would be in the country, where there are green fields and fresh air and big trees and clear brooks. We will have beautiful grounds reaching in every direction, like those around Windsor Castle, that I once saw when in England. And everybody will do as they please, and read and write and paint what they like, or sit in the sun and shade, and so drift out of life as gently as the brown leaf falls and floats out to the eternal sea.

"I do not mean to grow poetic, True, but I have always thought about such a place as that, and to me it has seemed just as I have tried to make it appear to you. I know you will understand, too, and your artist fancy will conceive things of which I do not even dream. I never hoped that it could be possible for me to realize thisvision, though it has always been very near my heart, and once I even spoke about it to papa. But then, he isn't rich like that, and, besides, our family is large and the boys have to be started in life.

"I was perfectly crazy at first to tell papa about the 'cash for names' plan, and should have done so if you hadn't pledged me to solemn secrecy. Of course, I know how dangerous it would be for any other paper to find it out before you get started, but I know papa would not tell a soul if I told him not to. Only I am glad now that I couldn't, for he is so conservative, you know, in his business methods that I am sure he would have laughed at the plan, and perhaps proved to me in some way that it wasn't practical— I mean, of course, he might havemade mebelieve it wasn't practical, for he knows so much about business and is always so matter-of-fact that I can't argue with him at all. Then I should have been discouraged and uneasy, instead of overflowing with happiness and dreams.

"I am glad you are going to have agood man to solicit advertising right away; and how fine it is that he can get those cash contracts before the paper starts, so you can have ample means right from the first! It all seems so simple and easy now that I wonder people have not done these things long ago. But it is always that way—the simple things are the great ones and the last to be found out. It isn't often, either, that those who discover them get the benefit, and that seems too bad; but it is a comfort to feel that at last genius is to have its just reward, especially when it is the genius of those near and dear to us, and when through it so many others will be benefited and made happy, too.

"I am awfully interested in what you have told me now and then about your picture of the bread line, and the little sketch you made of it on the margin of your last letter is delightful. I hope you will not let it go unfinished, though I know, of course, you are very busy and have so much to think of. But painting will be a rest to you, sometimes, and a change; and then, I like to think of you atyour work, too. Besides, it must be completed when I come, you know, and that will be—well, no; I'm not quite ready to fix the exact date yet, because, you see, you will have so much to do for a while, even after the paper is started, that I think we would better wait until it is fairly under way before you try to leave, even if that should not be much before the holidays.

"We can wait and see, and when the time comes I shall be ready, for papa doesn't believe in grand weddings, nor I, either, and I shall have very little preparation to make. Some day, when the 'second round of the third issue' is off, and the 'first round of the fourth issue' is started, when the subscriptions are whirling in like snowflakes through which you are gliding smoothly and well to fortune, then you may write to me, True, that you are coming, and I will be ready. I know that June is the month for weddings, but it is always June in the heart where love is, and, besides, New York is at its best in winter and spring, and when summer really does come we can go where our fancy takes us.

"True, when you went away, and we said to each other that we would wait until you had made a place for yourself in the world,—until you had 'arrived,' as you called it,—the time of waiting seemed long. That was three years ago, but, after all, they have been swift, sweet years, even though we have not seen each other often. For little by little and step by step you did 'arrive,' until we both knew you had the solid ground of success under your feet. The joy of battle made the days go quickly to you, while the joy of watching you has been sweet to me. So you will not be impatient now, for this new triumph which will come still more quickly will make the weeks go even faster, and while it is not my best ambition for you, and only a means to an end, I still rejoice with you and am proud of you in it all. Good-by, True.

"With all my love,"Dorothy.

"P.S. Papa just came in with the little roll from you containing proofs of the titleand department headings. They are beautiful. He noticed all the pages on my desk covered with figures, and asked me if I were estimating the cost of a new Easter bonnet!

"Dorry."

Matters seemed to start with an exasperating lack of rapidity—so much so that in midsummer Perner declared they seemed considerably farther from the first issue now than they had been on the night at the Hotel Martin. It is true, he had a "dummy" put together, all blank except the first page and the department headings, while at the printer's there was almost enough matter to fill the blank columns, if only Stony and Van would talk less and complete the drawings they had started.

He said despairingly one morning to Barrifield, who had dropped in for a moment:

"We ought to be running a semi-annual instead of a weekly. I think we could just about get out two issues of the paper in a year."

Barrifield assured him that they were doing beautifully, and that matters would go like clockwork when once they got started. For himself, he declared that he was getting along swimmingly, and displayed a number of more or less impossible premiums which he had pursued by mysterious and exciting methods to that guarded and hidden chamber which he still referred to in hushed tones as the "inside." He had also made a discovery in the way of an advertising man whom he described as being the very man for the place—in fact, a jewel!

"Recommended by Jackson, of the Jackson & Marsh Advertising Agency," he announced triumphantly, "and by Rushly, of the 'Home Monthly'—been with them two years and had the benefit of Rushly's training. Says Bates—that's his name—is a great hustler."

"Why doesn't he stay with the 'Home,' then?" Perner spoke rather impatiently.

"No chance of advancement. Rushly is head man there and certain to stay. Bates wants to begin with a new paper that is sure to go. I was talking to Jackson to-day about what we were going to do and he mentioned Bates. Jackson, by the way, thinks our scheme great. He'd take stock in it in a minute if we'd let him."

"Did he say so?"

"No; of course he couldn't do that, but I could tell by the way he talked. There'll be no trouble, though, about getting all the time of him we want on our advertising."

"Did he say that?"

"No; I didn't ask him. But he was as friendly ascouldbe, and gave me a lot of good advice about advertising and advertisers. He said we ought to have a man like Bates, and then put those matters entirely into his hands. I gathered from him that there was a sort of an inside circle that worked together, and that unless a man was in it he didn't have much show."

"Bates is in the ring, of course."

"Of course! And in addition to securing advertising contracts for us, he can place our ads too. Jackson said he would do better for Bates on a cash discount than he would for anybody."

"But I thought we were going to get credit?"

"Of course, until the advertising is out. That's cash, you know, and when it's out we'll have money coming right in to pay for it. That's the way Frisby did."

"Did you mention that to him?"

"Why, no; but—well you know I look prosperous. That's what Frisby did, too, and he didn't have a dollar. Jackson said Bates could also help out with the business management."

Perner brightened.

Barrifield rose to go.

"We can't get him any too quick, either," he added. "You've got your hands about full. I can see that!"

In fact, Perner was beginning to look worn. It had been decided some weeks previous that a time had arrived when one of them must devote himself wholly to theaffairs of the forthcoming publication, and as Perner was to be editor as well as managerpro tem., besides having but little cash to put in, as he had confessed in the beginning, he was selected for the sacrifice. A stated salary was agreed upon, which amount was to be applied each week on his stock subscription in lieu of cash. How he was to live on the comfortable-looking, though intangible, figure that he passed each Saturday to his credit on stock until such times as returns began to assume definite form, he did not, with all his business experience, pause to consider. He began at once the task of shaping their more or less formless fancies, and the equally difficult one of subsisting on the returns from certain labors already concluded and disposed of to those periodicals here and there which, in some unexplained manner, have assumed the privilege of holding matter to suit their convenience and paying for it on publication. These checks fluttered in now and then, and were as rare jewels found by the wayside. He was still confident of success. If his enthusiasmand flesh had waned the least bit, it was because realities hitherto unconsidered were becoming daily more assertive and vigorous. Of these there were many. From the moment of his return from breakfast—two hours earlier than he had ever thought necessary in the old days—there were men and also women waiting to see him. The fact of the "Whole Family" had become known, even as the hunted stag becomes known to birds of prey in the far empyrean, and solicitors of all kinds had begun to gather at the first croaking note of rumor.

There were those who wished to advertise it upon illuminated cards set in frames to be placed in country hotels and railway stations; there were others who would announce it by a system of painted signs sown broadcast on the fences; and still others who for a consideration would display the good news upon dizzy mountain cliffs and the trees of the mighty forest, where even the four-footed kingdoms might see and rejoice at the glad tidings.

Of those who solicited for publicationsthere were a legion. Monthlies and weeklies of which Perner had not even heard marshalled their clans and swooped down in companies, battalions, and brigades. All of these he could turn over to Bates when he came on: the printers, engravers, contributors, and the people with circulation schemes were enough for him.

As to the latter contingent, Van Dorn and Livingstone relieved him somewhat, and rather enjoyed doing so. It was in the nature of a diversion to them to listen to these wordy emissaries of the east wind, who unfolded more or less startling schemes that ranged all the way from a house-to-house canvass for subscribers, through various voting contests, up to the securing by lobby an act of Congress adopting the paper as the official organ of some forty millions of school-children. It was more pleasant to listen and to discuss with this garrulous advance-guard of fortune in her various guises than to pursue her more ploddingly at the easel. This gave some relief to Perner, though, on the whole, he would have preferred seeingthem at work. Livingstone, it is true, did work feverishly at his painting now and then, for as much as an hour or more at a time, and between him and Van Dorn the various headings and one or two other drawings had come into being. But there was still much for them to do, and their seeming inability to get down to business, now that matters were really under way, was sometimes, as he had hinted to Barrifield, altogether discouraging. Later in the day he abused them roundly.

"How do you expect we are going to get out a paper once a week?" he asked. There had come the lull which precedes lunch-time, and Perner was standing in his door and glaring at them with undisguised scorn. His disarranged hair and the light on his glasses gave him the appearance of a very tall beetle. "Once a week! Do you know what that means? It means not once a year, nor once a month, but every seven days! Here we've been going nearly seven months, and you haven't got pictures for one issue yet! How in the world do you expect to get out from six toeight pictures a week for the next issues? That's what you've got to do, you know, until we get started and money is coming in to buy outside work with. Even then we can't depend on that for the class of stuff we want. You could do it, too, without turning a hair, if you'd just puncture a few of these wind-bags that come along, and get down to work!"

"Oh, pshaw! Perny; there's plenty of time," said Van Dorn, pacifically. "Stony and I are Committee on Circulation."

"That's so," said Livingstone. "We had one man to-day who wanted to put copies of our first issue into seventeen million packages of starch for distribution throughout the entire civilized world. Van told him it was a stiff proposition."

"He didn't see the joke, though," complained Van Dorn, in a grieved voice, "and he looked at us pityingly when I told him we had a better scheme."

"You didn't hint at what it was, of course," said Perner, anxiously.

"Not much! He'd have gobbled it up in a minute if I had."

Perner dropped into a chair and stretched out his feet.

"When Bates comes we'll turn a lot of these fellows over to him," he mused aloud. "The rooms below us are empty. We'll get them and put him in there. Then we can all get down to work."

"Those rooms will more than double the rent, won't they?" asked Van Dorn.

"Yes; but we can't have that gang up here, even if it trebles it. We're not going to have any too much money, either, to run us through. The engraving bill came in to-day, and the letter postage is no small item. There'll be a bill for composition on the 1st, and it'll be a good deal, because we've changed the style of type so often. Then, Bates's salary will commence right away, and he'll probably have to have a stenographer, and an allowance for incidentals, and a desk and some other furniture. You see, Frisby had a lot of things when he took the 'Voice' that we'll have to buy, and it's like building a house—it always takes more than you expect it to. Of course, when we onceget started we'll have money to throw at the birds, but, whatever Frisby may have done, it's beginning to be pretty clear to me that we'll have to throw a good deal into other places before that time comes. You and Stony had better be hustling on a little outside work, too, so, in case of another assessment—"

They drifted over to the Continental for lunch, where presently Barrifield joined them. The Continental was handy and it was also cheaper than some of the places they had heretofore frequented. Barrifield was aglow with a sort of triumphant excitement.

"I've just seen Bates," he began, as he seated himself. "Great! Told me more about advertising in five minutes than I ever dreamed of. I could hardly get away from him."

"Why didn't you bring him along?" said Livingstone.

"Well, you see," said Barrifield, lowering his voice, "he'd been out hustling all the morning, and he'd had a drink or two,—they have to do that, you know,—andI didn't know but he'd want to talk too much. He's all right, though. The smartest man I ever knew couldn't do business well until he'd had a few drinks."

"That's so!" assented Perner. "There's lots of people that way. When's he coming?"

"Monday. And I engaged a circulation man, too."

Barrifield paused to note the effect of this remark. The others were regarding him questioningly. They had not calculated on an expense in this direction for the present.

"He doesn't cost anything, either," he added triumphantly.

The look all around became one of pleasure. Barrifield explained.

"An old war-horse," he said. "Been circulation manager for some of the greatest publications in the country. Retired from the business years ago. Been speculating more or less since, and not doing much of anything lately. Great traveler, and used to write, too. Money probably to live on now, and wants to get back intothe smoke of battle for the mere joy of the thing. He happened into the 'Home' office while I was there, and heard we were starting the 'Whole Family.' Said he'd be delighted to come and help us out until we got to going, and then we could do what we wanted to with him. I closed a bargain on the spot. He can take a big load off of you fellows. Great, isn't it?"

"Bully!" said Van Dorn. "I suppose he'll want to buy some stock later on, though."

Barrifield looked wise.

"That's what I suspected," he admitted. "Well, if he does us a good turn now, we might let him have a share or two later, eh, fellows?"

The others assented eagerly. They were not to be outdone in liberality. They knew nothing of this new acquisition, but Barrifield's description appealed to them.

"We'll put him down-stairs with Bates," reflected Perner.

"What's his name, Barry?" asked Van Dorn.

"Hazard—Colonel Hazard. Officer in the Civil War. All the big battles. If we got pinched before the returns come he'd loan us money, too."

"That's good," said Perner. "We may need it."

They studied the bill of fare intently.

"They serve all portions for two here, don't they?" asked Perner, rather cautiously, at last.

A waiter standing near by replied in the affirmative.

"That soup looks good," suggested Van Dorn. "Creme of tomatoes with rice. Suppose we try two portions of that?"

Livingstone hastily referred to the price, which he was gratified to find was unusually moderate.

"By gad, yes," he said. "Tomato soup—that's it! It's good and substantial."

"Filling," agreed Van Dorn.

"And corn-beef hash," said Perner. "I haven't had any corn-beef hash for a dog's age."

"Let's see," said Livingstone and Van Dorn together.

There was another hasty and surreptitious reference to the price.

"Hash, that's it!" suddenly exclaimed Barrifield, who had also been studying the various economies set forth on the rather elaborate list. "Nice brown hash without the poached egg or any trimmings. Just good, plain, old-fashioned hash! Two portions of soup and two of hash will make a lunch fit for a king. It makes my mouth water to think about it. What shall we have to drink?"

"I find it interferes with my work, afternoons," said Perner. "Nothing for me."

"Me, too," agreed Van Dorn. "I'm going to do without even coffee in the middle of the day."

"Same here," said Livingstone.

"How about pie?" suggested Barrifield, wistfully.

Perner's eyes, too, grew hungry at the sound of the word, but he maintained silence. A peculiar smile grew about Van Dorn's mouth.

"They won't serve two portions of pie for four of us, I suppose," he said.

There was a laugh in which all joined, and the flimsy wall of pretense was swept away.

"Let's own up, boys," said Barrifield, "it's a matter of economy just now with all of us. We'll be lunching at Del's this time next year, but for a few months we want to go a little slow. Let's have pie, though, once more, anyway."

Perner's days were not without compensations. There was correspondence with certain celebrities whom they had decided to engage for the coming year, and to be addressed by these as "Dear Mr. Perner," and even as "My dear Perner" more than once, was worth the foregoing of certain luxuries of a grosser nature.

Then, too, the news of the "Whole Family" had gone abroad among the bohemians of the town, and the poet and the fictionist unearthed from the dark corners of their desks—technically known as their "barrels"—the sketches, poems, and stories that had already (and more thanonce, perhaps, as editors came and went) gone the hopeless round from Franklin Square to Irvington-on-the-Hudson. They shook the dust from these, cleaned them carefully with an eraser, and brought them to Perner's door. They were a merry crowd, these bohemians, and most of them Perner knew. He had waited with them in editorial anterooms, had striven hip to thigh with them in the daily turmoil of Park Row, and in more convivial and prosperous moments had touched glasses and nibbled cheese with them at Lipton's or in Perry's back room. It was really rather fine, therefore, to have become all at once a potentate before whom, with due respect, they now dumped the various contents of their several "barrels."

He informed one and all graciously that contributions would be promptly passed upon, and such as were selected promptly paid for, speaking as one with ample means in reserve. He knew, of course, the venerable character of most of these offerings,—he could detect a renovatedmanuscript across the room in poor light,—but he also knew that some of his own most successful work had become much travel-worn. He was willing to wade through the pile of chaff in the hope of discovering a gem, and, besides, the dignity of an editorial desk with heaped-up manuscript was gratifying.

Also, the bohemians were entertaining. They knew the peculiarities of every editor in town, and exchanged with Perner characteristic experiences. Among them was a stout, middle-aged man named Capers. He was partly bald, with a smooth baby face that gave him somewhat the appearance of Cupid, and, with his merry disposition, made him seem much younger than he really was.

"Well, I've just had a round with Jacky," he said, as he came in one morning, puffing somewhat after the long climb. (Jacky was the name by which a certain very prominent and somewhat difficult magazine editor was irreverently known among the bohemians.) "It was a pretty stiff tussle, but I landed him."

Perner's face showed interest. Jacky, to him, had been always a trying problem.

"How was it?" he asked. "What did you land him with?"

"Christmas poem—twenty-four lines. Wrote it for an autumn poem—twelve lines in the first place. Too late for this year."

"You could change it, of course, easy enough."

"Changed it right there. Put the golden apples and brown nuts in a pan on the table instead of on the sear and yellow trees. Then I showed it to him again, and he said he didn't care much for nuts and apples anyway, so I took 'em out, and put back the trees, and hung tinsel and embroidered slippers on them. I had to add four more lines to do that, and spoke of the holidays connecting the years like a 'joyous snow-clad isthmus' to rhyme with 'Christmas.' He liked that pretty well, but thought it ought to have a little more atmosphere, so I put in at the beginning a stanza with a Star in the East in it, and another at the end with Christmas day as a star in theheart of humanity—sort of a reflection like—"

"That was good—tiptop!"

"Yes; he took it then. He said, if he didn't, I'd keep on adding to it and break up the magazine. Now, Perny, I'll tell you, I've got a poem that runs right straight through the year. Every stanza is complete in itself, and I can give you any kind of a cut you want. You can have it all as it is, or I'll take out the bones and trim it up for you, or you can have slices out of it here and there at so much a slice."

Perner took the manuscript and ran his eye over it casually.

"That's a good thing on September," he said. "The figure of the goldenrod like a plumed warder closing the gates of summer is striking. We don't publish till November, though."

"That's all right! What's the matter with making it chrysanthemum—a royal goddess at the gates of fall?"

"Why, yes; I suppose that will do." Perner handed back the sheet, and Capers immediately set about recasting hisstanzas. Perner had been too long in literature himself to be shocked by this phase of it. He was only amused. Furthermore, he was fond of Capers, as was every editor in town. They knew him to be far more conscientious in his work than most of those who affected the poetic manner and dress. These and others were less entertaining. Some of them Perner would rather not have seen.

There was the faded, middle-aged woman whose poor, impossible manuscript was offered to him with hands made heavy by toil. There was the pale, eager girl who trembled before him until Perner himself was so disturbed that words meant to be kindly and encouraging became only rude and meaningless. There was the handsomely dressed woman of fashion, who, with the air of a benefactor, laid before him stories of bad execution and worse morals—stories to which was attached neither the author's signature nor stamps for their return. Then there was the sharp-featured woman with spectacles, who regarded him severely and proceededto read her poem aloud. Once this contributor brought a song, and insisted on singing it to him, much to the enjoyment of Van Dorn and Livingstone in the next room.

There were men who tried him, too: men who brought bad pictures and a recommendation from their instructors; men who were worn and threadbare, and smelled of liquor and opium; men, and women, too, who offered their ancestry, or their relationship with better-known people, as an argument of their ability; men who accompanied their contributions with a card bearing a picture of themselves as well as their names, and on the reverse side local press notices complimentary to their talents.

All of these, however, were the exceptions. For the most part, the bohemians were sensible, cheerful people who had adopted the uncertain paths of art, and were following them, in storm and sun, bravely and perseveringly, to the end. They were nearly always light-hearted—on the surface, at least,—and bore away their unaccepted offerings or left otherswith equally good nature. Now and then a new aspirant came, in whose work Perner recognized the elements of success. Toward these his heart warmed, and out of his well of experience he gave to them an abundance of encouragement and priceless counsel. Indeed, this was a keen enjoyment to him. His own struggle, begun somewhat late in life, had not been altogether an easy one, and there was delight in renewing each step of his success. There was regret, too—regret that the old days of freedom, and nights without responsibility, were over. Still, it was something to be the editor of a great paper, and then, by and by, there would be for him—for all of them—the comforts of wealth, and with it time in which to do only such work as gave them most pleasure. The strain was rather hard now, sometimes, and might become even harder before the final triumph. But the end of their rainbow was drawing each day nearer, and in the summer dusk, under their open skylight, the friends still drowsed and talked far into the night of pots of gold.

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