don't matter, so long's he did it."

"The spellin' don't allus seem quite right," she added doubtfully.

"I guess the spellin's as good as the readin'll be," he retorted, with
evident irritation. "I bet I spell as well as any o' the folks thet
takes the paper."

"And some words I can't make out."

"Oh, the edytur'll fix that. Say, air ye tryin' to queer my story, mar?
Do ye set up to know more'n I do about story writin'?"

"No," she said; "I ain't talented, Skim, an' you be."

"What I orter hev," he continued, reflectively, "is a typewriter. When I
git two er three hunderd ahead perhaps I'll buy one--secondhand."

"Kin ye buy one thet'll spell, Skim?" she asked, as she made a neat roll
of the manuscript and tied a pink hair ribbon around it.

Skim put on a collar and necktie and took his story across to the
newspaper office.

"I got a conter-bution fer the paper," he said to Patsy, who asked him
his business.

"What, something original, Skim?" she asked in surprise.

"Ye've hit it right, Miss Doyle; it's a story."

"Oh!"

"A detective story."

"Dear me! Then you'll have to see Mrs. Weldon, who is our literary
editor."

Louise, who was sitting close by, looked up and held out her hand for
the beribboned roll.

"I don't jes' know," remarked Skim, as he handed it across the table,
"whether it's a thirty dollar deal, er a fifty."

Having forgotten Beth's editorial, Louise did not understand this
remark, but she calmly unrolled Skim's manuscript and glanced at the
scrawled heading with an amused smile.

"'Suspecting Algernon,'" she read aloud.

"'It were a dark and teedjus night in the erly springtime while the snow
were falling soft over the moon litt lanskape.' Why, Skim, how came you
to write this?"

"It were the money," he said boldly. "I kin do one a day like this, at
thirty dollers apiece, an' never feel the wear an' tear."

Patsy giggled, but Louise stared with a wondering, puzzled expression at
the crabbed writing, the misspelled words and dreadful grammar. Indeed,
she was a little embarrassed how to handle so delicate a situation.

"I'm afraid we cannot use your story, Mr. Clark," she said gently, and
remembering the formula that usually accompanied her own rejected
manuscripts she added: "This does not necessarily imply a lack of merit
in your contribution, but is due to the fact that it is at present
unavailable for our use."

Skim stared at her in utter dismay.

"Ye mean ye won't t