old out in one day. Then we ordered a second
edition of one hundred thousand, and they're printing it now.

"The presses have been working all night to meet the demand!"

"But," cried Carter, "there isn't any demand!"

"There will be," said Dolly, "when five million people read our
advertisements."

She dragged him to the window and pointed triumphantly into the street.

"See that!" she said. "Mr. Spink sent them here for me to inspect."

Drawn up in a line that stretched from Fifth Avenue to Broadway were an
army of sandwich men. On the boards they carried were the words: "Read
'The Dead Heat.' Second Edition. One Hundred Thousand!" On the fence
in front of the building going up across the street, in letters a foot
high, Carter again read the name of his novel. In letters in size more
modest, but in colors more defiant, it glared at him from ash-cans and
barrels.

"How much does this cost?" he gasped.

"It cost every dollar you had in bank," said Dolly, "and before we are
through it will cost you twice as much more. Mr. Spink is only waiting
to hear from me before he starts spending fifty thousand dollars; that's
only half of what you won on Red Wing. I'm only waiting for you to make
me out a check before I tell Spink to start spending it."

In a dazed state Carter drew a check for fifty thousand dollars and
meekly handed it to his wife. They carried it themselves to the office
of Mr. Spink. On their way, on every side they saw evidences of his
handiwork. On walls, on scaffolding, on bill-boards were advertisements
of "The Dead Heat." Over Madison Square a huge kite as large as a
Zeppelin air-ship painted the name of the book against the sky, on
"dodgers" it floated in the air, on handbills it stared up from the
gutters.

Mr. Spink was a nervous young man with a bald head and eye-glasses.
He grasped the check as a general might welcome fifty thousand fresh
troops.

"Reinforcements!" he cried. "Now, watch me. Now I can do things that are
big, national, Napoleonic. We can't get those books bound inside of a
week, but meanwhile orders will be pouring in, people will be growing
crazy for it. Every man, woman, and child in Greater New York will want
a copy. I've sent out fifty boys dressed as jockeys on horseback to ride
neck and neck up and down every avenue. 'The Dead Heat' is printed on
the saddle-cloth. Half of them have been arrested already. It's a little
idea of my own."

"But," protested Carter, "it's