“You have heard of me. My unckle Burt having died leaving the goods, you know how I stept into glory, and how I am in society and I have become the Head Poet. Some folks have come to tap my brains for their papers, so I thought I would ring you up instead and proffer to make you a chatty little bit for the front page about how I got on in the world.” “Very good then” he chortled in response to the editors unheard words, “yes indeed it is too true that all are willing to be told how to get there but few arrive. I will do my best by the public.” Cramming down the hear-piece he burst from the box and ambled up to his apartment humming a little air and leaving the crushed crowd below. Did he falter? That no one shall know but he soon picked up, and tucked up his new mauve cuffs, and sat down, and began. And when Selia returned, she tripped into his room where he sat now in a bandana dressing-gown at a desk with a pen in hand and some ink on his nose. “Behold” cried she stripping her gloves and twinkling like jewls her new-polished nails at him, “lo Harold what they have done for me!” “Tush” cried he blotting his last page, yet looked towards her for he dearly loved her did Mr. Withersq and had all of a great man’s easy ways. “Quite a little picture” he went on giving her a good look over. She was indeed improved in a gown with red bits on and slippery shoes very long and nasty-looking but the thing and silk stocking of the best with ventilations on the sides and the crocodil bag and one of those little hats like a hen, which when she took off laid bare a delicous mass of curly hares and her face was made up suitable to a lady. Selia was indeed grand. “Kiss me then” said Harold to be done with it, during which she wetted a new handky and rubbed the ink off his nose. “If I may say so you are rather smart to look at now” he said, “I think that you will be a credit to me and no doubt your time will come.” “Ah that it might” lisped she sorely with a tear, “for of a truth the ladys are none to nice to me when you are absent and I have many a bitter stair with that sideways turn of the head which is so proud from some no better than me but safely married. Or so I take it.” “Shush shush” cried the kind Mr. Withersq. “All will be well, and I will marry you so soon as I can afford to do so without putting my foot in the social hole. And in the meantime I am writing newspapers.” Selia now clapped her hands none knowing better than she to what heits the newspapers can carry some who know how to take bulls by the horns, and then feeling a bit out of it as she noticed him casting an eye on the inkpot once more, crept from the room and went up to her bedroom to have a nap under the quilt, and dream of the rosy days yet to come.