“Yes, I have seen them,” said Bartley. “I've noticed the general plan.” “You know that Mr. Clayton has been doing them. He made them a popular feature. The parties themselves were very much pleased with them.” “Oh, people are always tickled to be interviewed,” said Bartley. “I know they put on airs about it, and go round complaining to each other about the violation of confidence, and so on; but they all like it. You know I reported that Indigent Surf-Bathing entertainment in June for the Chronicle-Abstract. I knew the lady who got it up, and I interviewed her after the entertainment.” “Miss Kingsbury?” “Yes.” Witherby made an inarticulate murmur of respect for Bartley in his throat, and involuntarily changed toward him, but not so subtly that Bartley's finer instinct did not take note of the change. “She was a fresh subject, and she told me everything. Of course I printed it all. She was awfully shocked,--or pretended to be,--and wrote me a very O-dear-how-could-you note about it. But I went round to the office the next day, and I found that nearly every lady mentioned in the interview had ordered half a dozen copies of that issue sent to her seaside address, and the office had been full of Beacon Street swells all the morning buying Chronicle-Abstracts,--'the one with the report of the Concert in it.'” These low views of high society, coupled with an apparent familiarity with it, modified Witherby more and more. He began to see that he had got a prize. “The way to do with such fellows as your Solid Men,” continued Bartley, “is to submit a proof to 'em. They never know exactly what to do about it, and so you print the interview with their approval, and make 'em _particeps criminis_. I'll finish up the series for you, and I won't make any very heavy extra charge.” “I should wish to pay you whatever the work was worth,” said Witherby, not to be outdone in nobleness. “All right; we sha'n't quarrel about that, at any rate.” Bartley was getting toward the door, for he was eager to be gone now to Marcia, but Witherby followed him up as if willing to detain him. “My wife,” he said, “knows Miss Kingsbury. They have been on the same charities together.” “I met her a good while ago, when I was visiting a chum of mine at his father's house here. I didn't suppose she'd know me; but she did at once, and began to ask me if I was at the Hallecks'--as if I had never gone away.” “Mr. Ezra B. Halleck?” inquired Witherby reverently. “Leather trade?” “Yes,” said Bartley. “I believe his first name was Ezra. Ben Halleck was my friend. Do you know the family?” asked Bartley. “Yes, we have met them--in society. I hope you're pleasantly situated where you are, Mr. Hubbard? Should be glad to have you call at the house.” “Thank you,” said Bartley, “my wife will be glad to have Mrs. Witherby call.”