my,
who, while I read, had been smoking savagely. "Don't you see that they
are in for the prize?" he growled. Then he made his statement.

"I have never," Jimmy said, "contributed to the _Saturday_, nor,
indeed, to any well-known paper. That, however, was only because the
editors would not meet me half-way. After many disappointments,
fortune--whether good or bad I cannot say--introduced me to the
editor of _Mothers Pets_, a weekly journal whose title sufficiently
suggests its character. Though you may never have heard of it,
_Mothers Pets_ has a wide circulation and is a great property. I
was asked to join the staff under the name of 'Uncle Jim,' and did not
see my way to refuse. I inaugurated a new feature. Mothers' pets were
cordially invited to correspond with me on topics to be suggested week
by week, and prizes were to be given for the best letters. This feature
has been an enormous success, and I get the most affectionate letters
from mothers, consulting me about teething and the like, every week.
They say that I am dearer to their children than most real uncles, and
they often urge me to go and stay with them. There are lots of kisses
awaiting me. I also get similar invitations from the little beasts
themselves. Pass the Arcadia."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER X.

SCRYMGEOUR.

Scrymgeour was an artist and a man of means, so proud of his profession
that he gave all his pictures fancy prices, and so wealthy that he could
have bought them. To him I went when I wanted money--though it must not
be thought that I borrowed. In the days of the Arcadia Mixture I had
no bank account. As my checks dribbled in I stuffed them into a torn
leather case that was kept together by a piece of twine, and when Want
tapped at my chamber door, I drew out the check that seemed most willing
to come, and exchanged with Scrymgeour. In his detestation of argument
Scrymgeour resembled myself, but otherwise we differed as much as men
may differ who smoke the Arcadia. He read little, yet surprised us by a
smattering of knowledge about all important books that had been out for
a few months, until we discovered that he got his information from a
friend in India. He had also, I remember, a romantic notion that Africa
might be civilized by the Arcadia Mixture. As I shall explain presently,
his devotion to the Arcadia very nearly married him against his will;
but first I must describe his boudoir.

We always called it