erstand your ability to write this story of yours, Miss
Fern," he added, pointedly.

The young woman bridled a little.

"It does not matter much, if you are not going to print it," she said,
raising her eyes to his.

He bowed low to express whatever apology might be necessary.

"I would have accepted it if I could," he said. "My entire life is spent
in reading manuscripts in the hope of discovering one that will make a
hit with the public to whom we cater. When successful I am as pleased as
a South African who fishes a diamond of the first water out of the mine.
Your story, Miss Fern, shows decided talent. You have a greater
knowledge of some of the important things of life, I will wager, than
your grandmother had at eighty, if she lived so long. As I am obliged to
go now, let me add, without mincing matters, that you are very deficient
in English grammar, and that nothing you can write will be acceptable to
any first-class house until that fault is remedied. Are you ready,
Archie?"

Mr. Weil felt indignant. He could not have spoken to any girl as pretty
as this one in such language, and he thought it quite inexcusable on the
part of his friend to do so. Mr. Gouger, though feeling that it was best
to use little circumlocution, had not meant to wound his caller. But
her countenance showed that he _had_ wounded her, and the natural
gallantry of his younger companion came to the rescue.

"I am not ready yet," said Mr. Weil, telegraphing at the same time a
series of signals with his eyes. "I want a few minutes' talk with Miss
Fern, if you will introduce me. I think I can say something she will
like to hear."

Mr. Gouger, who now stood in such a position that Miss Fern could not
see him, shook his head to imply that he did not fancy this arrangement;
but he ended by saying, "Very well." He then abruptly made the
presentation, put on his hat, said good-by, and vanished.

Miss Millicent, who had risen, turned with an air of puzzled inquiry
toward Mr. Weil.

"Be seated again, for a moment," he said, politely. "I want your
permission to read your story."

"Why, I don't know," she answered. "Are you one of the employes of Cutt
& Slashem?"

He smilingly denied the imputation.

"I have not that felicity," he added, "but I am much interested in
things literary, and have a rather wide acquaintance in this line of
business. If I could be allowed to read your MSS. perhaps I should form
a milder opinion of its faults tha