m Perner knew. He had waited with them in editorial anterooms, had
striven hip to thigh with them in the daily turmoil of Park Row, and in
more convivial and prosperous moments had touched glasses and nibbled
cheese with them at Lipton's or in Perry's back room. It was really
rather fine, therefore, to have become all at once a potentate before
whom, with due respect, they now dumped the various contents of their
several "barrels."

He informed one and all graciously that contributions would be promptly
passed upon, and such as were selected promptly paid for, speaking as
one with ample means in reserve. He knew, of course, the venerable
character of most of these offerings,--he could detect a renovated
manuscript across the room in poor light,--but he also knew that some of
his own most successful work had become much travel-worn. He was willing
to wade through the pile of chaff in the hope of discovering a gem, and,
besides, the dignity of an editorial desk with heaped-up manuscript was
gratifying.

Also, the bohemians were entertaining. They knew the peculiarities of
every editor in town, and exchanged with Perner characteristic
experiences. Among them was a stout, middle-aged man named Capers. He
was partly bald, with a smooth baby face that gave him somewhat the
appearance of Cupid, and, with his merry disposition, made him seem much
younger than he really was.

"Well, I've just had a round with Jacky," he said, as he came in one
morning, puffing somewhat after the long climb. (Jacky was the name by
which a certain very prominent and somewhat difficult magazine editor
was irreverently known among the bohemians.) "It was a pretty stiff
tussle, but I landed him."

Perner's face showed interest. Jacky, to him, had been always a trying
problem.

"How was it?" he asked. "What did you land him with?"

"Christmas poem--twenty-four lines. Wrote it for an autumn poem--twelve
lines in the first place. Too late for this year."

"You could change it, of course, easy enough."

"Changed it right there. Put the golden apples and brown nuts in a pan
on the table instead of on the sear and yellow trees. Then I showed it
to him again, and he said he didn't care much for nuts and apples
anyway, so I took 'em out, and put back the trees, and hung tinsel and
embroidered slippers on them. I had to add four more lines to do that,
and spoke of the holidays connecting the years like a 'joyous snow-clad
isthmus' to rhyme with 'Chr