pon these lines:

"Messrs. Cutt & Slashem regret to be obliged to decline
with thanks the MSS. of M. Shirley Roseleaf, and request to
be informed what disposition he desires made of the same."

Roseleaf read this dizzily. For some moments he could not understand
what that sentence meant. "Obliged to decline" was plain enough; but his
confused mind found some grains of comfort in the request of the firm to
know what he wished done with his manuscript. They must, he reasoned,
consider it of value, or they would not respond in that courteous
manner. Still, he could not comprehend how they had had the asininity to
"decline" it at all.

Were they unwilling to add another star to their galaxy?

Could they actually have read the tale?

A firm of their reputation, too!

When Roseleaf emerged from his temporary stupor it was into a state of
great indignation. Why, the men were fools! He wished heartily he had
never gone to them. They would yet see the day when, with tears in their
eyes, they would regret their lack of judgment. His first act should be
to go to their office and express his opinion of their stupidity, and
then he would take his MSS. to some rival house. And never, never in the
world--after he had become famous, and when every publisher on both
sides of the Atlantic were besieging him--never, he said, should these
ignorant fellows get a scrap of his writing, not even if they offered
its weight in gold!

He was too excited for delay, and donning his hat, he took his way with
all speed to Cutt & Slashem's office. At that instant he had more faith
in his novel than ever. As he walked rapidly along he compared it with
some of the stories issued by the firm that had rejected it, to the
great disadvantage of the latter.

"I wish to see Mr. Cutt or Mr. Slashem," he said, imperiously, as he
entered the counting room.

"Both are in," said the office boy, imperturbably. "Which will you
have?"

"I will see them together."

Had they been tigers, fresh from an Indian jungle, it would have made no
difference to him.

The boy asked for his card, vanished with it, returned and bade him
follow. Up a flight of stairs they went, then to the left, then to the
right, then across a little hall. A door with the name of the house and
the additional word "Private" loomed before them.

"Come in!" was heard in response to the knock of the office boy.

Roseleaf entered, something slower than a cannon ball,