nes in Mr. Blicker's correspondence column. And we wouldn't tell them
what the 'W. B.' meant until after they'd finished the course, and then
we'd send them the degree of 'Master of Wedded Bliss,' and write it out
in the diploma."

Jimaboy sat back in his chair and laughed uproariously. The most
confirmed sentimentalist may have a saving sense of humor. Indeed, it is
likely to go hard with him in the experimental years, if he has it not.

"It's perfectly feasible--perfectly," he chuckled. "It would be merely
pounding sand into the traditional rat-hole with all the implements
furnished--teaching our specialty to a world yearning to know how. You
could get up the lectures and question schedules for the men, and I
could make some sort of a shift with the women."

"Yes; but the text-books. Don't these 'Fit-yourself-at-Home' schools
have text-books?"

"Um, y-yes; I suppose they do. That would be a little difficult for
us--just at the go-off. But we could get around that. For example, 'Dear
Mrs. Blank: Replying to your application for membership in the
Post-Graduate School of W. B., would say that your case is so
peculiar'--that would flatter her immensely--'your case is so peculiar
that the ordinary text-books cover it very inadequately. Therefore, with
your approval, and for a small additional tuition fee of $2 the term, we
shall place you in a special class to be instructed by electrographed
lectures dictated personally by the principal.'"

Isobel clapped her hands. "Jimmy, love, you are simply great, when you
are not trying to be. And, after a while, we could print the lectures
and have our own text-books copyrighted. But don't you think we ought to
take in the young people, as well?--have a--a collegiate department for
beginners?"

"'Sh!" said Jimaboy, and he got up and closed the door with ostentatious
caution. "Suppose somebody--Lantermann, for instance--should hear you
say such things as that: 'take in the young people'! Shades of the
Rosicrucians! we wouldn't 'take in' anybody. The very life of these mail
things is the unshaken confidence of the people. But, as you suggest, we
really ought to include the frying size."

It was delicious fooling, and Isobel found a sketch-block and dipped her
pen.

"You do the letter-press for the 'collegiate' ad., and I'll make a
picture for it," she said. "Hurry, or I'll beat you."

Jimaboy laughed and squared himself at the desk, and the race began.
Isobel had a small gif