Just then he got the Last Straw--a bewildered Rufus with a Letter of Introduction. That took 40 Minutes. When Rufe walked out, the Busy Man fell with his Face among the unanswered Letters. "Call a Cab," he said. "The 'Phone is out of order," was the Reply. "Ring for a Messenger," he said. She pulled the Buzzer and in 20 minutes there slowly entered a boy from the Telegraph Office. The Man let out a low Howl like that of a Prairie Wolf and ran from the Office. When he arrived at Home he threw his Hat at the Rack and then made the Children back into the Corner and keep quiet. His Wife told around that Henry was Working too hard. * * * * * MORAL: Work is a Snap, but the Intermissions do up the Nervous System. * * * * * _THE SICKLY DREAM AND HOW IT WAS DOCTORED UP_ One Day a pure white Soul that made Sonnets by hand was sitting in his Apartment embroidering a Canto. He had all the Curtains drawn and was sitting beside a Shaded Candle waiting for the Muse to keep her Appointment. He wore an Azure Dressing-Gown. Occasionally he wept, drying his Eyes on a Salmon Pink Handkerchief bordered with yellow Morning Glories. Any one could tell by looking at him that he was a delicate Organism and had been raised a Pet. Presently he put his left Hand to his Brow and began to indite with a pearl-handled Pen on Red Paper. Then there was a Ring at the Bell. "Oh, Fudge!" said the Author. "That distressing Sound! And just when I was beginning to generate Ethereal Vapor. Hereafter I shall order the vulgar Tradespeople to deliver all Marshmallows at the Servants' Entrance." He began to write again, reviving himself at the end of each Word, by means of Smelling Salts. He did not see the Artist standing in the Doorway. The Artist was a muscular Person with an Ashen Complexion and a Suit that was not large enough to show the entire Pattern. He carried a Bludgeon with a Horse's Head on it. In order to attract the Attention of Mr. Swinburne, he whistled through his Teeth, whereupon the Author jumped over the Table and fell among the Rugs, faintly calling "Mother! Mother!" "Cut it out!" exclaimed the Artist. "What's matter? Huh?" "Oh, how you startled me," said the Author sitting up among the Rugs. "Just as you came in I was writing about the Fays and the Elfins. I was in the deep Greenwood, the velvet Sward kissing my wan Cheek and the Leaves whispering overhead." [Illustration: _The Author._] "I see," said the Artist. "A Dark Change from an Interior to a Wood Set. That's all right if you can do it quick. Who did you say you was doing it for--the Fays?" "I mentioned the Fays and Elfins," replied the Author. "I've heard of the Fays," said the Artist. "They're out on the Orpheum Circuit now. But the Elfins--no. What kind of a Turn do they do?" "Ah, the Elfins!" said the Author. "They dance in the Moonlight and skip from Tree to Tree.