-Graduate School of W. B., 506 Hayward Avenue, Cleland, Ohio.

N. B.--Graphophone, with Model Conversations for Married Lovers,
furnished free with lectures on Post-Marriage Courtship.

They pinned the pictures each to its "copy" and had their laugh over the
conceit.

"Blest if I don't believe we could actually fake the thing through if we
should try," said Jimaboy. "There are plenty of people in this world who
would take it seriously."

"I don't doubt it," was Isobel's reply. "People are so ready to be
gold-bricked--especially by mail. But it's twelve o'clock! Shall I
light the stove for luncheon?--or can we stand Giuseppe's?"

Jimaboy consulted the purse.

"I guess we can afford stuffed macaroni, this one time more," he
rejoined. "Let's go now, while we can get one of the side tables and be
exclusive."

They had barely turned the corner in the corridor when Lantermann's door
opened and the cartoonist sallied out, also luncheon-stirred. He was a
big German, with fierce military mustaches and a droop in his left eye
that had earned him the nickname of "Bismarck" on the _Times_ force. He
tapped at the Jimaboy door in passing, growling to himself in broken
English.

"I like not dis light housegeeping for dese babies mit der wood. Dey
starf von day und eat nottings der next. I choost take dem oud once und
gif dem sauerkraut und wiener."

When there was no answer to his rap he pushed the door open and entered,
being altogether on a brotherly footing with his fellow-lodgers. The
pen-drawings with their pendant squibs were lying on Jimaboy's desk; and
when Lantermann comprehended he sat down in Jimaboy's chair and dwelt
upon them.

"_Himmel!_" he gurgled; "dot's some of de liddle voman's fooling. Goot,
_sehr_ goot! I mus' show dot to Hasbrouck." And when he went out, the
copy for the two advertisements was in his pocket.

Jimaboy got a check from the _Storylovers_ that afternoon, and in the
hilarity consequent upon such sudden and unexpected prosperity the
Post-Graduate School of W. B. was forgotten. But not permanently. Late
in the evening, when Jimaboy was filing and scraping laboriously on
another story,--he always worked hardest on the heels of a
check,--Isobel thought of the pen-drawings and looked in vain for them.

"What did you do with the W. B. jokes, Jimmy?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything with them. Don't tell me they're lost!"--in mock
concern.

"They seem to be; I can't find them anywhere."