There was no telling how soon the story might appear, or how long it might be kept waiting; even the publishers could not tell that, so much depended upon circumstances. Dick had heard of manuscript being kept for months, even years, in the publishers’ safes, after it was accepted and paid for. Weeks passed without any signs of “The Through Sleeper”; and the weeks grew into months. Dick was sent on a mission to the far Northwest, and for many days he saw no newspapers. He was in the midst of his work there when a very short note came from Darling. “No time to write you a letter to-night, Dick,” the note said. “Just want to tell you your ‘Through Sleeper’ began in to-day’s Illustrated Weekly. “I read it at lunch time; it’s immense. The fellows say it’s the funniest thing that’s appeared in this generation; I think so, too. “They’re all talking about it. If it holds out as it begins, you’ve made a hit, sure. “All well at home. Yours, Darling.” Dick’s face flushed as he read the note--the old flush around the temples that he had not felt for many a day. It was an army post that he was staying at, and in a few days more a bundle of papers arrived, among them some copies of The Illustrated Weekly. “Why didn’t you tell us you were an author as well as a correspondent, Sumner?” the officers asked after they had read the story. They had been very hospitable before, but now they could hardly do enough for him. Of course they told him how much they enjoyed the story; but what was much better was to see them splitting their sides with laughter over it, and to hear them talking about it. “Score two points!” Dick said to himself. “They like my story in the office, and they like it at the army post; but they’re all my friends. That fickle old military man, General Public, is still to be heard from.” Four of the five numbers had appeared when Dick returned to New York, and there was no longer any doubt about the fate of “The Through Sleeper.” It was not only a success; it had carried everything by storm. “Oh, you go take ‘De T’rew Sleeper’!” he heard one newsboy say to another on his way to the office; and he reflected that newsboys do not commonly read The Illustrated Weekly stories, so they must have heard the expression from some one else. Yes, it was true enough. Everybody was talking about it and repeating odd sayings from it. In the office he had to go through an ordeal of congratulations. Not only Darling, but Jack Randall, Lawrence, Herrick, Banks, Black, and a dozen others, told him how glad they were that he had made such a success. Even Mr. Harding sent for him. “I’m much obliged to you, Sumner,” the editor-in-chief said. “You have given me more good laughs than I had had in an age before. I’ll never be able to ride in a sleeper again without thinking of you. It is good clean humor, too; wholesome, easily digested.”