blishing house in Chicago.

"And Mr. Baker, the old minister, kept him going and coming, you might
say, by sending him at frequent intervals, bright and budding lights
with which to illuminate his publications. It seems the
third-half-nephew by marriage, in gratitude for the fifty dollars,
never refused a position to any satellite his uncle chose to recommend.
And Mr. Baker glowed with delight that he had been able, from the
unliterary center of Centerville to send so many candles to shine in
the chandelier of Chicago.

"All I had to do was to come.

"As I said before, I came.

"I went out to Mrs. Holly's on Prairie Avenue and the next morning set
out for the Carver Publishing Company, and found it, with the
assistance of most of the policemen and street-car conductors as well
as a large number of ordinary pedestrians encountered between Prairie
on the South Side, and Wilson Avenue on the North. I asked for Mr.
Carver, and handed him Mr. Baker's letter. He shook hands with me in a
melancholy way and said:

"'When do you want to begin? Where do you live?'

"'To-morrow. I have a room out on the south side, but I will move over
here to be nearer the office.'

"'Hum,--you'd better wait a while.'

"'Isn't it a permanent position?' I asked suspiciously.

"'Oh, yes, the position is permanent, but you may not be.'

"'Mr. Baker assured me--'

"'Oh, sure, he's right. You've got the job. But so far, he has only
sent me nineteen, and the best of them lasted just fourteen days.'

"'Then you are already counting on firing me before the end of two
weeks,' I said indignantly.

"'No. I am not counting on it, but I am prepared for the worst.'

"'What is the job? What am I supposed to do?'

"'You must study our publications and do a little stenographic work,
and read manuscripts and reject the bum ones,--which is an endless
task,--and accept the fairly decent ones,--which takes about five
minutes a week,--and read exchanges and clip shorts for filling, and
write squibs of a spicy nature, and do various and sundry other things
and you haven't the slightest idea how to start.'

"'No, I haven't, but you get me started, and I'll keep going all right.'

"The next morning he asked how long it took me to get to the office
from Prairie, and I said:

"'I moved last night, I have a room down on Diversey Boulevard now.'

"He looked me over thoughtfully. Then he said: 'You ought to be a
poet.'

"'Why? I haven't an