rs. Now you
want my opinion of those stories, and what's more, you want my advice as
to the best place to put them to secure their approval and early
publication. Now I am going to smoke a cigar quietly and think the whole
thing over, and at half past twelve I will give you my opinion in
writing. I am going into my library for half an hour to write down what
I have to say. You take a nap on the lounge there, and you will be
refreshed when I come back after having made mince meat of your poor,
beautiful, blind _protege_."

Leopold disappeared into the library, and Quincy stretching himself on
the lounge, rested, but did not sleep. Before he had realized that ten
minutes had passed, Leopold stood beside him with a letter sheet in his
hand, and said, "Now, Quincy, read this to me, and I will see if I have
got it down straight."

Quincy's hand trembled nervously as he seated himself in his old
position and turning the sheet so that the light would fall upon it, he
read the following:

Opinion of Leopold Ernst, Literary Critic, of certain manuscripts
submitted for examination by Quincy A. Sawyer, with some advice gratis.

1. Series of eight stories. Mighty clever general idea; good stories
well written. Same style maintained throughout; good plots. Our house
could not handle them--not of our line. Send to ----. (Here followed the
name of a New York publisher.) I will write Cooper, one of their
readers. He is a friend of mine, and will secure quick decision, which,
I prophesy, will be favorable.

2. "Her Native Land" is a fine story. I can get it into a weekly
literary paper that our house publishes. I know Jameson, the reader,
will take it, especially if you would give him the right to dramatize
it. He is hand and glove with all the theatre managers and has had
several successes.

3. That story about the Duke, I want for our magazine. It is capital,
and has enough meat in it to make a full-blown novel. All it wants is
oysters, soup, fish, entrees, and a dessert prefixed to and joined on to
the solid roast and game which the story as now written itself supplies.

In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, this 24th day of
February, 186--.

LEOPOLD ERNST, Literary Critic.

Quincy remained all night with Leopold, sleeping on the bed lounge in
the sitting-room. He was up at six o'clock the next morning, but found
that his friend was also an early riser, for on entering the library he
saw the latter seated at hi