After the dust had settled, and the invasion was finally completed, $40 had been added to the year's receipts of the Fiction Factory; but Edwards clings to the hope that some day more of his "fine stories" may be greedily bought by the German publishers. These German publishers are honorable enough to buy, where they might pirate, and there are a few American publishers who might take lessons from them in business probity. With a small tidbit from a letter of May 18, the pleasant Mr. Niemann will be dismissed: "Later, with your permission, I will take up the stories I sell in GERMANY for sale in FRANCE, DENMARK, NORWAY and SWEDEN? The monetary remuneration in the SCANDINAVIAN countries is yet smaller than in GERMANY, but the people are fine readers, and that for all, who truly LOVE their ART is the chief standpoint I take it?!" During the latter part of July and the earlier part of August Edwards was in New York for a couple of weeks. As usual when in the city he worked even harder than he did at home. Two nickel novels were written, a serial was put through the Factory for Mr. Davis, and he collected $200 for a novelette which he sold to _People's_. There was an interesting, almost a humorous, circumstance connected with the serial. Edwards called the story "The Man Who Left." When the manuscript was completed he took it in to Mr. Davis, and two or three days later called again to learn its fate. The Munsey offices are up close to the roof in the Flatiron building. The lair of the editor who presides over the destinies of _The All-Story Magazine_, _The Railroad Man's Magazine_ and _The Scrap Book_[L] is flanked on one side by a prospect of space that causes the occasional caller to hang on to his chair. Across from this dizzy void is a partition hung with framed photographs of contributors--a rogues' gallery in which Edwards, when he last saw the collection, had a prominent place. North of an imaginary line drawn between the window and the partition sits the editor, grimly prominent against a motto-covered wall. As the caller faces the editor he is, of course, confronted by placards reminding him that "This is My Busy Day--Cut it Short," and "Find A Man for the Job not A Job for the Man," and others cunningly calculated to put him on tenterhooks. To this place, therefore, came Edwards, proffering inquiries about "The Man Who Left." He read fateful things in the august countenance, and he was not surprised when Mr. Davis handed him a lemon, but he _was_ surprised when he took the lemon back.