rteen days we have fought, bled and died on the literary
battle-field; dined on bath-mitts and _cafe hydraulique_, walked past
the opera-house entrance when our favorite play was on, and all that.
But tell me, throb of my heart, have we ever gone shy on bliss?"

She met him half-way. It was the spirit in which they had faced the bill
collector since the beginning of the period of leanness.

"Never, Jimmy, dear; not even hardly ever."

"There you are, then. Remains only for us to tell others how to do it;
to found the Post-Graduate School of W. B. It's the one thing needful in
a world of educational advantage; a world in which everything but the
gentle art of being happy, though married, is taught by the postman. We
have solved all the other problems, but there has been no renaissance in
the art of matrimony. Think of the ten thousand divorces granted in a
single state last year! My dear Isobel, we mustn't lose a day--an
hour--a minute!"

She pretended to take him seriously.

"I don't know why we shouldn't do it, I'm sure," she mused. "They teach
everything by mail nowadays. But who is going to die and leave us the
endowment to start with?"

"That's the artistic beauty of the mail scheme," said Jimaboy,
enthusiastically. "It doesn't require capitalizing; no buildings, no
campus, no football team, no expensive university plant; nothing but an
inspiration, a serviceable typewriter, and a little old postman to blow
his whistle at the door."

"And the specialty," added Isobel, "though some of them don't seem to
trouble themselves much about that. Oh, yes; and the advertising; that
is where the endowment comes in, isn't it?"

But Jimaboy would not admit the obstacle.

"That is one of the things that grow by what they are fed upon: your ad.
brings in the money, and then the money buys more ad. Now, there's
Blicker, of the _Woman's Uplift_; he still owes us for that last
story--we take it out in advertising space. Also Dormus, of the _Home
World_, and Amory, of the _Storylovers_--same boat--more advertising
space. Then the _Times_ hasn't paid for that string of space-fillers on
'The Lovers of All Nations.' The _Times_ has a job office, and we could
take that out in prospectuses and application blanks."

By this time the situation was entirely saved and Isobel's eyes were
dancing.

"Wouldn't it be glorious?" she murmured. "Think of the precious,
precious letters we'd get; real letters like some of those pretended
o