Keyes was mistaken again. No fine thing ever was made by accident. Keyes managed to write that story because its theme was the most interesting incident in his life; because it appealed to him more strongly than anything else had in his whole experience; because he was thoroughly familiar with the life and the people he featured in his story; because he was absolutely sincere in his sympathies, appreciation, and emotions here; he had no ideals set way beyond his power, no aping tendencies after an effective style, no attention distracted by an ill-digested knowledge of mechanical construction. The structure, and the style simply came, probably because--and finally he managed to write that story because--he was keyed up to it. A domestic woman often has a wretchedly unworshipful view of art and fame. Keyes's confession did not kill Louise. I suppose he expected her to go back to her parents in high dudgeon as one who had been grossly swindled. "Do you care if you can't write?" she said, after a moment's silence. "Just think how nice you are--how much nicer you were before you tried to write! And how it has worried you!" Keyes got a job as a collector for a mercantile house. "My health demands outdoor employment," he told his acquaintances. * * * * * Sometimes, alone with his lamp after the day's confounded drudgery, Keyes got out the old magazine and reread his forgotten story. THE END. The following typographical errors have been corrected: (note of etext transcriber) seene=>scene bibiographer=>bibliographer Bandelaire=>Baudelaire as you might saw her context=>as you might say her context inquired aonther=>inquired another End of Project Gutenberg's Turns about Town, by Robert Cortes Holliday