d in
literature and books and magazines and things like that. That was all I
wanted. That's why I did it."

The reporter looked up askance at the editor, as a prompter watches the
actor to see if he is ready to take his cue.

"How do I know that?" demanded the editor, sharply. He found it somewhat
difficult to be severe with this poet, for the man admitted so much so
readily, and would not defend himself. Had he only blustered and grown
angry and ordered them out, instead of sitting helplessly there rocking
to and fro and picking at the back of his hands, it would have made it
so much easier. "How do we know," repeated the editor, "that you did not
intend to wait until the poems had appeared, and then send us your real
address and ask for the money, saying that you had moved since you had
last written us?"

"Oh," protested Mr. Aram, "you know I never thought of that."

"I don't know anything of the sort," said the editor. "I only know that
you have forged and lied and tried to obtain money that doesn't belong
to you, and that I mean to make an example of you and frighten other men
from doing the same thing. No editor has read every poem that was ever
written, and there is no protection for him from such fellows as you,
and the only thing he can do when he does catch one of you is to make an
example of him. That's what I am going to do. I am going to make an
example of you. I am going to nail you up as people nail up dead crows
to frighten off the live ones. It is my intention to give this to the
papers to-night, and you know what they will do with it in the morning."

There was a long and most uncomfortable pause, and it is doubtful if the
editor did not feel it as much as did the man opposite him. The editor
turned to his friend for a glance of sympathy, or of disapproval even,
but that gentleman still sat bending forward with his eyes fixed on the
floor, while he tapped with the top of his cane against his teeth.

"You don't mean," said Mr. Aram, in a strangely different voice from
which he had last spoken, "that you would do that?"

"Yes, I do," blustered the editor. But even as he spoke he was conscious
of a sincere regret that he had not come alone. He could intuitively
feel Bronson mapping out the story in his mind and memorizing Aram's
every word, and taking mental notes of the framed certificates of high
membership in different military and masonic associations which hung
upon the walls. It had not been l