se
in resentment against it. They had expected nothing and were surprised
to find much. Worn out with heavy volumes from the pens of the learned
and the pretentious, they seemed to find in this little book a rest, a
refuge for reverie, cooled with running water and sheltered by leaves
from the burning sun. And at night, when the author lay down to rest
and to muse upon himself, his heart did not beat with the exultant
throb of victory--it was full of a melancholy gratitude. One morning a
letter startled him. It came from a great periodical and enclosed a
check in payment for a serial story. It represented more money than he
had ever hoped to possess; he called Warren, and handed him the piece
of paper.

"I can hardly trust my eyes," he said. "What do you make of it?"

Warren flew into a fit of enthusiasm. "Five thousand dollars," he
cried. "And it comes from the advertising the newspapers have been
giving you. I want to tell you that advertising pays. Five thousand
dollars, and it didn't take you more than six months to write the
thing. Those fellows don't know whether it's good or not. All they
know is that the newspapers have given your other story a send-off.
Talk about newspapers; the first thing you know we'll have money
enough to paper the town. But this is all yours. No matter, I'm as
much interested as if it were mine. Say, let me have this check a
minute. I want to go across the street and show it to a fellow and
tell him to go to--He spoke of this office one day as Poverty's Nest.
Let me take it over there."

"No," said Lyman, laughing, "but I'll tell you what you may do with
it--take it over to the bank and deposit it in my name."

"But you'll have to come along and leave your signature."

"Is that the way they do? All right; but I don't want to see McElwin."

"That won't be necessary. But don't you think we'd better carry the
check around town awhile before depositing it?"

"No, that would be silly."

"Silly! It would be business. You let me have it and I'll rake in
fifty subscriptions before three o'clock. It's business."

"No, we'll go over and deposit it."

They went over to the bank, laughing like boys as they crossed the
street. McElwin had not come down. The ceremony was conducted by the
cashier, a humdrum performance to him, but to Lyman and Warren one of
marked impressiveness. They returned to the office with the air of
capitalists. At the threshold of the "sanctum" they met a man who
wa