Into the publisher’s eye steals the light of wisdom and decision. Is this individual worth it? Will he do the songs of the house twenty-five dollars’ worth of good next season? Blessed be fate if there is a partner to consult. He will have time to reflect. “Well, George, I haven’t it right here in the drawer, but I can get it for you. I always like to consult my partner about these things, you know. Can you wait until this afternoon?” Of course the applicant can wait, and between whiles are conferences and decisions. All things considered, it may be advisable to do it. “We will get twenty-five out of him, any way. He’s got a fine tenor voice. You never can tell what he might do.” So a pleasant smile and the money may be waiting when he returns. Or, he may be put off, with excuses and apologies. It all depends. There are cases, however, where not even so much delay can be risked, where a hearty “sure” _must_ be given. This is to that lord of the stage whose fame as a singer is announced by every minstrel billboard as “the renowned baritone, Mr. Calvin Johnson,” or some such. For him the glad hand and the ready check, and he is to be petted, flattered, taken to lunch, dinner, a box theater party--anything--everything, really. And then, there is that less important one who has over-measured his importance. For him the solemn countenance and the suave excuse, at an hour when his need is greatest. Lastly, there is the sub-strata applicant in tawdry, make-believe clothes, whose want peeps out of every seam and pocket. His day has never been as yet, or mayhap was, and is over. He has a pinched face, a livid hunger, a forlorn appearance. Shall he be given anything? Never. He is not worth it. He is a “dead one.” Is it not enough if the publisher looks after those of whose ability he is absolutely sure. Certainly. Therefore this one must slop the streets in old shoes and thin clothing, waiting. And he may never obtain a dime from any publisher. Out of such grim situations, however, occasionally springs a success. These “down and out” individuals do not always understand why fate should be against them, why they should be down, and are not willing to cease trying. “I’ll write a song yet, you bet,” is the dogged, grim decision. “I’ll get up, you bet.”