"You will never do so," I exclaimed, "with my permission. What kind of a return is this," I continued, hotly, "for the favors I have granted you? I gave you a 'Van' to your name when I might have called you 'Perkins' or 'Simpson.' I have humbled myself so far as to brag of your polo ponies, your automobiles, and the iron muscles that you acquired when you were stroke-oar of your 'varsity eight,' or 'eleven,' whichever it is. I created you for the hero of this story; and I will not submit to having you queer it. I have tried to make you a typical young New York gentleman of the highest social station and breeding. You have no reason to complain of my treatment to you. Amy Ffolliott, the girl you are to win, is a prize for any man to be thankful for, and cannot be equalled for beauty--provided the story is illustrated by the right artist. I do not understand why you should try to spoil everything. I had thought you were a gentleman." "What it is you are objecting to, old man?" asked Van Sweller, in a surprised tone. "To your dining at ---- [5]," I answered. "The pleasure would be yours, no doubt, but the responsibility would fall upon me. You intend deliberately to make me out a tout for a restaurant. Where you dine to-night has not the slightest connection with the thread of our story. You know very well that the plot requires that you be in front of the Alhambra Opera House at 11:30 where you are to rescue Miss Ffolliott a second time as the fire engine crashes into her cab. Until that time your movements are immaterial to the reader. Why can't you dine out of sight somewhere, as many a hero does, instead of insisting upon an inapposite and vulgar exhibition of yourself?" [Footnote 5: See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well," in the daily newspapers.] "My dear fellow," said Van Sweller, politely, but with a stubborn tightening of his lips, "I'm sorry it doesn't please you, but there's no help for it. Even a character in a story has rights that an author cannot ignore. The hero of a story of New York social life must dine at ---- [6] at least once during its action." [Footnote 6: See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well," in the daily newspapers.] "'Must,'" I echoed, disdainfully; "why 'must'? Who demands it?" "The magazine editors," answered Van Sweller, giving me a glance of significant warning. "But why?" I persisted. "To please subscribers around Kankakee, Ill.," said Van Sweller, without hesitation. "How do you know these things?" I inquired, with sudden suspicion. "You never came into existence until this morning. You are only a character in fiction, anyway. I, myself, created you. How is it possible for you to know anything?" "Pardon me for referring to it," said Van Sweller, with a sympathetic smile, "but I have been the hero of hundreds of stories of this kind." I felt a slow flush creeping into my face.