‘I _have_ something in my pocket to show you,’ answered Felix, ‘and I think you will appreciate it.’ ‘Is it something of your own?’ queried the man of letters. ‘No, it is not; and, what is more, I doubt if I could write anything so good myself. I know when you have seen it, you will accept it.’ ‘Um! I don’t know,’ replied the editor dubiously. ‘You see, I am simply inundated with amateur efforts. Of course, sometimes I get something good; but usually—— Now, if the matter in discussion was a manuscript of your own’—— ‘Now, seriously, Simpson, what do you care for me or anything of mine? It is the name you want, not the work. You know well enough what sells magazines of the _Midas_ type. It is not so much the literary matter as the name. The announcement that the next month’s _Midas_ will contain the opening chapters of a new serial by some one with a name, is quite sufficient to increase your circulation by hundreds.’ ‘’Pon my honour, you’re very candid,’ rejoined Mr Simpson. ‘But what is this wonderful production you have?’ ‘Well, I’ll leave it with you. You need not trouble to read it, because, if you don’t take it, I know who will.’ ‘What do you want for this triumph of genius?’ ‘Well, in a word, ten pounds. Take it or leave it.’ ‘If you say it is worth it, I suppose I must oblige you.’ ‘That is a good way of putting it; and it will oblige me. But mark me—this man will some day confer favours by writing for you, instead of, as you regard it at present, favouring him.’ The proprietor of the _Midas_ sighed gently. The idea of paying over ten pounds to an unknown contributor was not nice, but the fact of offending Felix was worse. ‘If,’ said he, harping on the old string, and shaking his head with a gentle deprecating motion—‘if it was one of yours now’—— ‘What confounded nonsense you talk!’ exclaimed Felix impatiently. ‘Don’t get wild, Felix,’ replied Mr Simpson soothingly. ‘I will take your protégé’s offering, to oblige you.’ ‘But I don’t want you to oblige me. I want you to accept—and pay for—an article good enough for anything. It is a fair transaction; and if there is any favour about it, then it certainly is not on your side.’ Mr Simpson showed his white teeth in a dazzling smile. ‘Well, Felix, I do admire your assurance,’ he said loftily. ‘I never heard the matter put in that light before. My contributors, as a rule, don’t point their manuscript at my head metaphorically, and demand speedy insertion and prompt pay.—Do you want a cheque for this manuscript now?’ ‘Yes, you may as well give me the cash now.’ Mr Simpson drew a cheque for the desired amount, and passed it over to Felix, who folded the pink slip and placed it in his pocket; whereupon the conversation drifted into other channels. REVOLUTION BELOW-STAIRS.