"The reading matter that follows is, as you see, typewritten, and easily read. Now, I--" "D--n it," said the business manager. "Don't you come in here reading your old spring poems to me. I've been bored already today with a lot of ink and paper drummers. Why don't you go to work instead of fooling away your time on rot like that?" "I didn't mean to bother you," said the other man, rolling up his manuscript. "Is there another paper in the city?" "Yes, there's a few. Have you got a family?" "Yes, sir." "Then why in thunder don't you get into some decent business, instead of going around writing confounded trash and reading it to busy people? Ain't you got any manhood about you?" "Excuse me for troubling you," said the ordinary-looking man, as he walked toward the door. "I tell you how it is. I cleared over $80,000 last year on these little things I write. I am placing my spring and summer ads for the Sarsaparilla firm of which I am a member. I had decided to place about $1,000 in advertising in this town. I will see the other papers you spoke of. Good morning!" The business manager has since become so cautious that all the amateur poets in the city now practice reading their verses to him, and he listens without a murmur. Delayed There's a good time coming--so the optimists all say; When everything will be alive and humming. And we'll have lots of money and sing and dance all day; It may be so--but it's a good time coming. A Good Story Spoiled Few nights ago in a rather tough saloon in a little town on the Central Railroad, a big, strapping desperado, who had an unenviable reputation as a bad man generally, walked up to the bar and in a loud voice ordered everybody in the saloon to walk up and take a drink. The crowd moved quickly to the bar at his invitation, as the man was half drunk and was undoubtedly dangerous when in that condition. One man alone failed to accept the invitation. He was a rather small man, neatly dressed, who sat calmly in his chair, gazing idly at the crowd. A student of physiognomy would have been attracted by the expression of his face, which was one of cool determination and force of will. His jaw was square and firm, and his eye gray and steady, with that peculiar gray glint in the iris that presages more danger than any other kind of optic. The bully looked around and saw that someone had declined his invitation. He repeated it in a louder voice. The small man rose to his feet and walked coolly toward the desperado. "Excuse me," he said in a low but determined tone, "I'm a little deaf and didn't hear you the first time. Gimme whisky straight." And another story was spoiled for the papers. Revenge