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pleasant and both familiar to the editor。 They belonged to Jack
Hamlin； by vocation a gambler； by taste a musician； on his way from
his apartments on the upper floor； where he had just risen； to drop
into his friend's editorial room and glance over the exchanges； as
was his habit before breakfast。
The door opened lightly。 The editor was conscious of a faint odor
of scented soap； a sensation of freshness and cleanliness； the
impression of a soft hand like a woman's on his shoulder and； like
a woman's； momentarily and playfully caressing； the passage of a
graceful shadow across his desk； and the next moment Jack Hamlin
was ostentatiously dusting a chair with an open newspaper
preparatory to sitting down。
〃You ought to ship that office…boy of yours； if he can't keep
things cleaner；〃 he said； suspending his melody to eye grimly the
dust which Mr。 Bowers had shaken from his departing feet。
The editor did not look up until he had finished revising a
difficult paragraph。 By that time Mr。 Hamlin had comfortably
settled himself on a cane sofa； and； possibly out of deference to
his surroundings； had subdued his song to a peculiarly low； soft；
and heartbreaking whistle as he unfolded a newspaper。 Clean and
faultless in his appearance； he had the rare gift of being able to
get up at two in the afternoon with much of the dewy freshness and
all of the moral superiority of an early riser。
〃You ought to have been here just now； Jack；〃 said the editor。
〃Not a row； old man； eh？〃 inquired Jack； with a faint accession of
interest。
〃No；〃 said the editor； smiling。 Then he related the incidents of
the previous interview； with a certain humorous exaggeration which
was part of his nature。 But Jack did not smile。
〃You ought to have booted him out of the ranch on sight；〃 he said。
〃What right had he to come here prying into a lady's affairs？at
least a lady as far as HE knows。 Of course she's some old blowzy
with frumpled hair trying to rope in a greenhorn with a string of
words and phrases；〃 concluded Jack； carelessly； who had an equally
cynical distrust of the sex and of literature。
〃That's about what I told him；〃 said the editor。
〃That's just what you SHOULDN'T have told him；〃 returned Jack。
〃You ought to have stuck up for that woman as if she'd been your
own mother。 Lord！ you fellows don't know how to run a magazine。
You ought to let ME sit on that chair and tackle your customers。〃
〃What would you have done； Jack？〃 asked the editor； much amused to
find that his hitherto invincible hero was not above the ordinary
human weakness of offering advice as to editorial conduct。
〃Done？〃 reflected Jack。 〃Well； first； sonny； I shouldn't keep a
revolver in a drawer that I had to OPEN to get at。〃
〃But what would you have said？〃
〃I should simply have asked him what was the price of lumber at
Mendocino；〃 said Jack； sweetly； 〃and when he told me； I should have
said that the samples he was offering out of his own head wouldn't
suit。 You see； you don't want any trifling in such matters。 You
write well enough； my boy；〃 continued he； turning over his paper；
〃but what you're lacking in is editorial dignity。 But go on with
your work。 Don't mind me。〃
Thus admonished； the editor again bent over his desk； and his
friend softly took up his suspended song。 The editor had not
proceeded far in his corrections when Jack's voice again broke the
silence。
〃Where are those dd verses； anyway？〃
Without looking up； the editor waved his pencil towards an uncut
copy of the 〃Excelsior Magazine〃 lying on the table。
〃You don't suppose I'm going to READ them； do you？〃 said Jack；
aggrievedly。 〃Why don't you say what they're about？ That's your
business as editor。〃
But that functionary； now wholly lost and wandering in the non…
sequitur of an involved passage in the proof before him； only waved
an impatient remonstrance with his pencil and knit his brows。
Jack； with a sigh； took up the magazine。
A long silence followed； broken only by the hurried rustling of
sheets of copy and an occasional exasperated start from the editor。
The sun was already beginning to slant a dusty beam across his
desk； Jack's whistling had long since ceased。 Presently； with an
exclamation of relief； the editor laid aside the last proof…sheet
and looked up。
Jack Hamlin had closed the magazine； but with one hand thrown over
the back of the sofa he was still holding it； his slim forefinger
between its leaves to keep the place； and his handsome profile and
dark lashes lifted towards the window。 The editor； smiling at this
unwonted abstraction； said quietly；
〃Well； what do you think of them？〃
Jack rose； laid the magazine down； settled his white waistcoat with
both hands； and lounged towards his friend with audacious but
slightly veiled and shining eyes。 〃They sort of sing themselves to
you；〃 he said； quietly； leaning beside the editor's desk； and
looking down upon him。 After a pause he said； 〃Then you don't know
what she's like？〃
〃That's what Mr。 Bowers asked me；〃 remarked the editor。
〃Dn Bowers！〃
〃I suppose you also wish me to write and ask for permission to give
you her address？〃 said the editor； with great gravity。
〃No；〃 said Jack； coolly。 〃I propose to give it to YOU within a
week； and you will pay me with a breakfast。 I should like to have
it said that I was once a paid contributor to literature。 If I
don't give it to you； I'll stand you a dinner； that's all。〃
〃Done！〃 said the editor。 〃And you know nothing of her now？〃
〃No；〃 said Jack； promptly。 〃Nor you？〃
〃No more than I have told you。〃
〃That'll do。 So long！〃 And Jack； carefully adjusting his glossy
hat over his curls at an ominously wicked angle； sauntered lightly
from the room。 The editor； glancing after his handsome figure and
hearing him take up his pretermitted whistle as he passed out；
began to think that the contingent dinner was by no means an
inevitable prospect。
Howbeit； he plunged once more into his monotonous duties。 But the
freshness of the day seemed to have departed with Jack； and the
later interruptions of foreman and publisher were of a more
practical character。 It was not until the post arrived that the
superscription on one of the letters caught his eye； and revived
his former interest。 It was the same hand as that of his unknown
contributor's manuscriptill…formed and boyish。 He opened the
envelope。 It contained another poem with the same signature； but
also a notemuch longer than the brief lines that accompanied the
first contributionwas scrawled upon a separate piece of paper。
This the editor opened first； and read the following； with an
amazement that for the moment dominated all other sense：
MR。 EDITOR；I see you have got my poetry in。 But I don't see the
spondulix that oughter follow。 Perhaps you don't know where to
send it。 Then I'll tell you。 Send the money to Lock Box 47； Green
Springs P。 O。； per Wells Fargo's Express； and I'll get it there； on
account of my parents not knowing。 We're very high…toned； and they
would think it's low making poetry for papers。 Send amount usually
paid for poetry in your papers。 Or may be you think I make poetry
for nothing？ That's where you slip up！
Yours truly； WHITE VIOLET。
P。 S。If you don't pay for poetry； send this back。 It's as good
as what you did put in； and is just as hard to make。 You hear me？
that's meall the time。
WHITE VIOLET。
The editor turned quickly to the new contribution for some
corroboration of what he felt must be an extraordinary blunder。
But no！ The few lines that he hurriedly read breathed the same
atmosphere of intellectual repose； gentleness； and imagination as
the first contribution。 And yet they were in the same handwriting
as the singular missi