e until he could get a fresh start, he
took the civil service examinations for the Railway Mail. To his
surprise, he passed first. The job was assured, though when the call
would come to enter upon his duties nobody knew.

It was at this time, at the lowest ebb, that the smooth-running editorial
machine broke down. A cog must have slipped or an oil-cup run dry, for
the postman brought him one morning a short, thin envelope. Martin
glanced at the upper left-hand corner and read the name and address of
the Transcontinental Monthly. His heart gave a great leap, and he
suddenly felt faint, the sinking feeling accompanied by a strange
trembling of the knees. He staggered into his room and sat down on the
bed, the envelope still unopened, and in that moment came understanding
to him how people suddenly fall dead upon receipt of extraordinarily good
news.

Of course this was good news. There was no manuscript in that thin
envelope, therefore it was an acceptance. He knew the story in the hands
of the Transcontinental. It was "The Ring of Bells," one of his horror
stories, and it was an even five thousand words. And, since first-class
magazines always paid on acceptance, there was a check inside. Two cents
a word--twenty dollars a thousand; the check must be a hundred dollars.
One hundred dollars! As he tore the envelope open, every item of all his
debts surged in his brain--$3.85 to the grocer; butcher $4.00 flat;
baker, $2.00; fruit store, $5.00; total, $14.85. Then there was room
rent, $2.50; another month in advance, $2.50; two months' type-writer,
$8.00; a month in advance, $4.00; total, $31.85. And finally to be
added, his pledges, plus interest, with the pawnbroker--watch, $5.50;
overcoat, $5.50; wheel, $7.75; suit of clothes, $5.50 (60 % interest, but
what did it matter?)--grand total, $56.10. He saw, as if visible in the
air before him, in illuminated figures, the whole sum, and the
subtraction that followed and that gave a remainder of $43.90. When he
had squared every debt, redeemed every pledge, he would still have
jingling in his pockets a princely $43.90. And on top of that he would
have a month's rent paid in advance on the type-writer and on the room.

By this time he had drawn the single sheet of type-written letter out and
spread it open. There was no check. He peered into the envelope, held
it to the light, but could not trust his eyes, and in trembling haste
tore the envelope apart. The