"In the event of a large circulation," the poet pointed out, with a wave of the hand, "better terms might be arrived at. You, as a legal man, can appreciate that possibility." "There is only one idea which occurs to me," Harvey Grimm declared, after a brief pause. "Come and we will make an experiment." They marched out into the streets and walked solemnly along towards Leicester Square. Suddenly Harvey Grimm stopped short and accosted a small, grey-haired man who was carrying a bag and walking quickly. "I beg your pardon, sir," the former began. "What is it?" the little man demanded. Harvey Grimm took him gently by the lapel of his coat. The little man seemed too surprised to resist. "I want the privilege of a few minutes' conversation with you," Harvey Grimm continued. "You are one of the uneducated ten thousand who, on behalf of my friend here, Stephen Cresswell, the great poet, I am anxious to reach. Have you read Cresswell's poems?" "I am in a hurry," the little man insisted, gazing at his interlocutor in a bewildered manner, and struggling to escape. "The whole world is in a hurry," Harvey Grimm observed, drawing the paper volume from his pocket with the other hand. "This volume of poems will cost you eightpence. It will bring relief to its impoverished author, you yourself will become an enlightened----" "I wish you'd let me go," the little man protested angrily. "I don't know you, and I don't want to stand about the streets, talking to a stranger. Let me go or I'll call a policeman." "A policeman can afford you no assistance," Harvey Grimm assured him. "I shall remain polite but insistent. You will buy this volume of poems for eightpence, or----" "Or what?" his victim demanded. Harvey Grimm leaned down and whispered in his ear. The little man's hand shot into his pocket. He produced sixpence and two coppers, snatched at the book and hurried off. The victor in this little rencontre turned to his companions with an air of triumph and handed the eightpence to the poet, who immediately pocketed it. "The whole problem is solved," he declared. "You are a great man, sir," the poet exclaimed, grasping him by the hand, "but what was it you whispered in his ear?" "I simply told him," Harvey Grimm said blandly, "that I should biff him one. The cost of a new hat is ten and sixpence; the price of your poems is eightpence." "You are a great man, sir," the poet repeated heartily. "Watch the newspapers." * * * * *