"Interurban Express Co., Franklin. Gentelmen," he wrote, "I receved the genral order 719 and will oba it but I will have to practise v. and n. awhile first, some of the words dont come natural to me off hand like polyp and estivate. what is the rate on these if any comes exprest. whats a etiology, pleas advice me am I to use all these words or only sum. Mike Flannery." He sealed this with the feeling that he had done well indeed for a first time. He had worked in "practise v. and n." and "exprest," and, if the head office should complain that he had not used enough of the words in the list, he could point to "polyp" and "estivate" and "etiology." It was slow work, for he had to look up each word he used before writing it, to see whether it was on the list or not, but generally it was not, and that gave him full liberty to spell it in any of the three or four simplified ways he was used to employing. Then he turned to his letter to Mary O'Donnell. His buoyancy was somewhat lessened in this second attempt by the necessity of looking up each word as he used it, and he was working his way slowly, and had just told her he was sorry he had "kist" her ("kist" was in the three hundred), and that it had been because he had "fagot" himself ("fagot" was in the list also), when a man entered the office and laid a package on the counter. Flannery slid from his stool and went to the counter. The man was Mr. Warold of the Westcote Tag Company, and the package was a bundle of tags that he wished to send by express. They were properly done up, for Mr. Warold sent many packages by express. It was addressed to the "Phoenix Sulphur Company, Armourville, Pa." It was marked "Collect" and "Keep Dry." It was a nice package, done up in a masterly manner, and the tags were to fill a rush order from the sulphur company. Flannery pulled the package across the counter, and was about to drop it on the scales when the "Collect" caught his eye, and he held out his hand to Mr. Warold. "Have ye brung th' receipt-book with ye?" he asked. Mr. Warold felt in his coat-pocket. He had forgotten to bring the receipt book, and Flannery drew a pad of blank receipts toward himself, and dipped a pen into the ink. Then he looked at the address. "'Pho-_e_-nix,'" he read slowly. "That do be a queer sort av a worrd, Mr. Warold. 'Pho-_e_-nix!' Is it a man's name, I dunno?" "Feenix," pronounced Mr. Warold, grinning. Flannery was writing carefully with his tongue clasped firmly between his teeth, but he stopped and looked up. "'T is an odd way t' spell a worrd av that same pronownciation," he said, and then, suddenly, he laid down his pen and turned to the list of three hundred words that was pasted beside his desk. "Oh, ho!" he exclaimed, when he had run his finger down the list, and then he ran it still farther and said it again, and more vigorously, and turned back to Mr. Warold. He shook his head and pushed the package across to Mr. Warold.