He discussed the matter with his former magazine partner, Colver, and suggested that if they could induce Mr. Beecher to write a weekly comment on current events for the newspapers it would make an auspicious beginning. They decided to talk it over with the famous preacher. For to be a "Plymouth boy"--that is, to go to the Plymouth Church Sunday-school and to attend church there--was to know personally and become devoted to Henry Ward Beecher. And the two were synonymous. There was no distance between Mr. Beecher and his "Plymouth boys." Each understood the other. The tie was that of absolute comradeship. "I don't believe in it, boys," said Mr. Beecher when Edward and his friend broached the syndicate letter to him. "No one yet ever made a cent out of my supposed literary work." All the more reason, was the argument, why some one should. Mr. Beecher smiled! How well he knew the youthful enthusiasm that rushes in, etc. "Well, all right! I like your pluck," he finally said. "I'll help you if I can." The young editors agreed to pay Mr. Beecher a weekly sum of two hundred and fifty dollars--which he knew was considerable for them. When the first article had been written they took him their first check. He looked at it quizzically, and then at the boys. Then he said simply: "Thank you." He took a pin and pinned the check to his desk. There it remained, much to their curiosity. The following week he had written the second article and the boys gave him another check. He pinned that up over the other. "I like to look at them," was his only explanation, as he saw Edward's inquiring glance one morning. The third check was treated the same way. When they handed him the fourth, one morning, as he was pinning it up over the others, he asked: "When do you get your money from the newspapers?" He was told that the bills were going out that morning for the four letters constituting a month's service. "I see," he remarked. A fortnight passed, then one day Mr. Beecher asked: "Well, how are the checks coming in?" "Very well," he was assured. "Suppose you let me see how much you've got in," he suggested, and the boys brought the accounts to him. After looking at them he said: "That's very interesting. How much have you in the bank?" He was told the balance, less the checks given to him. "But I haven't turned them in yet," he explained. "Anyhow, you have enough in bank to meet the checks you have given me, and a profit besides, haven't you?" He was assured they had. Then, taking his bank-book from a drawer; he unpinned the six checks on his desk, indorsed each, wrote a deposit slip, and, handing the book to Edward, said: "Just hand that in at the bank as you go by, will you?"