"Follow the romance, and you will find it invariably centered about a white couple. Why have they done this? The answer will be, a moral; but, in my opinion, they could not imagine a Negro character strong enough to weave into the plot, and, therefore, substituted white lovers, because, in their imagination, it was more fitting. "These men have quit writing, from the fact, that it did not pay; for, it takes a world of thought, concentrated upon a certain purpose, to write a novel. Any man with the ability to put a great thought into words, and to employ words that are select, in the manner these men did in their books, could, at least should be, practical enough to do so in such a manner as to win an audience that would pay sufficiently for their work to maintain them. Instead of that, they have both quit writing. They were sincere, but did the worst possible thing by quitting. For the quitter never gains anything; and, when it comes to championing the cause of a people, the persons who have attempted the same, should certainly adhere to the task." He paused now, as someone knocked at the door. "Come in," he called. A woman, neatly dressed and attractive in appearance, and apparently intelligent, entered. "How do, Mr. Jones," she cried, stretching forth her hand. Mildred rose to go, but Jones waved her back. "Mrs. Langdon," he said kindly, "I am glad to see you. Be seated." She took a seat. She turned to Mildred, who looked as though she felt she was intruding, and said: "It is nothing private!" She drew from her bag a few sheets of paper, and, smoothing them out, she handed them to the editor with: "Here is a little article I have written, in honor of the young lady who is soon to make her appearance here in recital, as you know, and which has been well advertised. I wish to have you publish it in your paper," and then she smiled sweetly and affected much modesty, as she added: "It will not be necessary that you mention the same is written by me." "But I wish you to have all that is your due, Mrs. Langdon," he protested. "Oh, very well, then," she said, and rising, with a few more words, she took her leave. Jones glanced over the page, and then started. "Excuse me just a moment, Miss," he begged, and read the pages which were neatly written and punctuated. When he had finished, he smiled and said, under his breath: "That is certainly nerve." Mildred regarded him curiously. He looked at her, and handed the manuscript across the desk, saying: "Please read it." She obeyed, and when she was through, said: "It is a nice eulogy," and then her face showed the wonderment because of his expression of a moment ago. "Yes," he agreed, "it _is_ nice, but take a glance at this," and forthwith drew from the top of the desk, a pamphlet with the picture of an attractive colored girl thereon.