grow older."

By this time Oscar felt impelled to speak for his friend. It seemed
to him that Harry was too modest.

"My friend is assistant editor of a New Hampshire paper,--'The
Centreville Gazette,'" he announced.

"Indeed!" said the editor, looking surprised. "He is certainly young
for an editor."

"My friend is not quite right," said Harry, hastily. "I am one of
the compositors on that paper."

"But you write editorial paragraphs," said Oscar.

"Yes, unimportant ones."

"And are you, too, an editor?" asked the editor of the "Standard,"
addressing Oscar with a smile.

"Not exactly," said Oscar; "but I am an editor's son. Perhaps you
are acquainted with my father,--John Vincent of this city."

"Are you his son?" said the editor, respectfully. "I know your
father slightly. He is one of our ablest journalists."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am very glad to receive a visit from you, and should be glad to
print anything from your pen."

"I am not sure about that," said Oscar, smiling. "If I have a talent
for writing, it hasn't developed itself yet. But my friend here
takes to it as naturally as a duck takes to water."

"Have you brought me another essay, Mr. 'Franklin'?" asked the
editor, turning to Harry. "I address you by your _nom de plume_, not
knowing your real name."

"Permit me to introduce my friend, Harry Walton," said Oscar.
"Harry, where is your story?"

"I have brought you in a story," said Harry, blushing. "It is my
first attempt, and may not suit you, but I shall be glad if you will
take the trouble to examine it."

"With pleasure," said the editor. "Is it long?"

"About two columns. It is of a humorous character."

The editor reached out his hand, and, taking the manuscript, unrolled
it. He read the first few lines, and they seemed to strike his
attention.

"If you will amuse yourselves for a few minutes, I will read it at
once," he said. "I don't often do it, but I will break over my
custom this time."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry.

"There are some of my exchanges," said the editor, pointing to a pile
on the floor. "You may find something to interest you in some of
them."

They picked up some papers, and began to read. But Harry could not
help thinking of the verdict that was to be pronounced on his
manuscript. Upon that a great deal hinged. If he could feel that he
was able to produce anything that would command compensation, however
small, it would make him p