When he bounded out of his bed in the Carlton Hotel the next morning and looked over a copy of the Star which a thoughtful management had slid under his door, he began to radiate gladness and to impart tidings of good cheer. Little Sunshine, the sweet young orphan in the story book, who went around making folks forget their troubles by telling them that abscessed teeth and carbuncles were blessings in disguise, had nothing on him. He trilled a merry roundelay while he bathed and shaved, and he felt so good that he tossed a “good morning, kid” to a pert little sparrow who was hopping about on the fire escape outside the open window. Jimmy had a well forged alibi for his exuberance of spirits, quite apart from the resumption of diplomatic relations with the fair Lolita. He had just performed that fascinating operation known in the patois of the profession as “putting one over.” The patient who had submitted to his deft scalpel was no less a personage than E. Cartwright Jenkins, dramatic editor of the Star. E. Cartwright Jenkins was the alpha and omega, the guardian angel of the drama in that corner of the world. It is only fair to state that just one month before Jimmy’s advent on the scene, E. Cartwright had declared war to the death on the bureau of publicity and promotion. He had issued a manifesto which took in everyone from the humblest representatives of a “Tom show” to the avaunt couriers of the actors and actresses deemed worthy of favorable mention by the critics of the Big Town. The Jenkins’ ire had been aroused by a neat little yarn submitted by a modest young gentleman with mild blue eyes who had attested to its accuracy on the sacred honor of his grandsires. The subsequent developments had almost involved the Star in an expensive libel suit and certain blistering remarks from the owner and publisher of the paper, directed at the dramatic editor’s head, had resulted in the issuance of the aforementioned ultimatum. The manager of the Standard Theatre had shown Jimmy the letter containing it. “We shall accept from the theatre,” the letter ran, “only the briefest sort of a general preliminary announcement giving the name of the play and the players concerned. Press agents’ contributions are not wanted and will not be used. It will not be necessary for them to call to pay their respects. We will take those for granted.” As Jimmy sat on the edge of his bed and read the dramatic page of the Star over again he chuckled gleefully. Confronting him was a three column head which read: “Defense and a Rebuttal.” Underneath it was a thousand word letter addressed to the dramatic editor and signed “Very Respectfully Yours, James T. Martin.” Following it was a long piece bearing the signature of E. Cartwright Jenkins.