te to several. I have just sent an
article to the _Century_."

Andy was rather surprised, for he knew that the _Century_ held high rank
among contemporary magazines. It did not occur to him that any one might
send an article to that magazine, but that to have it accepted and
published would be a different matter.

"I suppose you enjoy writing?"

"Yes; there is nothing I like so well."

"Perhaps you will show me some of your articles."

"I can show you a poem which appeared last week in the village paper at
home."

"Thank you, I should like to see it."

Mr. Warren went up to his room, and speedily returned with a small
weekly paper.

On the front page, at the head of the first column, was a short poem by
G. Byron Warren. This was the first stanza, which Mr. Warren volunteered
to read aloud:

"'I'd like to be a robin,
And flit from bough to bough;
I'd pour sweet music on the air
If God would teach me how.'"

"I don't quite like that last line," he said looking up from the paper.
"Can you suggest any improvement?"

"You might say, 'And charm the pensive cow,'" suggested Andy,
mischievously.

"True, that might be a striking figure. I will consider it when I revise
the poem for publication in book form."

The rest of the poem was of similar quality.

"I don't think they would accept that for the _Century_," thought Andy.

"Do you devote yourself to literary work, or are you in business?" he
asked.

"I may go into business, but at present I only write. I send a letter
once a month to the Greenville _Banner_."

"I suppose they pay?"

"Oh--ah, yes," answered the poet, in a hesitating voice, "but the terms
are strictly confidential. If you ever pick up any incidents in your
daily walks, Mr. Grant, I shall be glad if you will communicate them to
me, that I may weave them into my correspondence."

"With pleasure."

Then it occurred to Andy to tell his neighbor about the street
adventurer whom he had met three times that morning.

"Capital!" exclaimed Warren. "I will get that into my next letter. I
see, Mr. Grant, you have an observing eye. You would make a good
reporter for one of the city dailies."

"Do you think so?" asked Andy, feeling complimented.

"I am sure of it."

"How long have you lived in the city, Mr. Warren?"

"About three months. Some time I will tell you why I came here," he
continued, with an air of mystery.

"I shall be glad to hear."

"I will tell you now, for