“Well, I don’t suppose you could either. But say, wouldn’t it be a lucky mistake if you had done it. Think of making a mistake like that and getting $250 for it. Think of being an author and not knowing it. That would be rich. If you did make that mistake I think I ought to lick the stuffing out of you for advertising me all over the country.” “All right; but say, maybe I did make that mistake. Guess I am not entitled to this check unless I did do something for it, but what on earth anybody would want to pay $250 for that kind of a story for, I don’t quite see. Now if I did make that mistake and they think enough of the story to pay $250, it would look foolish, wouldn’t it, for me to write them now and tell them they made a mistake. Wouldn’t the best way be to wait until Saturday when the next number of the _Weekly_ appears, and we can then see what story they refer to. And say, if that should be so, and I made the mistake the way you guess, I’ll give you half of the profits provided you agree not to lick me. Anyway, there’s no other name mentioned but just Hans.” So they decided to hold the check and wait for the next number of the magazine which was five days off. They were very much excited about it. They could hardly wait until Saturday came. On Friday Hal got a letter from his folks in answer to the one he had mailed ten days before, and in it his father returned him the letter addressed to the magazine in which they had asked for a job as agents. Hal then knew he had made a mistake in inclosing the letters and had sent the story about Hans to the magazine. It began to look like the $250 check was really his, by the greatest possible luck. The next morning they could hardly wait for the news store to open. They were both on hand before the doors were unlocked. When the place was opened they found the magazine wouldn’t arrive until ten o’clock. That was four hours to wait. They went home to breakfast but were on hand promptly when the package arrived from the depot, and eagerly bought a copy. Hal turned the pages one after the other until he came to a story headed: “TO A BROOKLYN WEDDING AND BACK AGAIN” A STORY FROM REAL LIFE ABOUT HANS By Harold Case “There she is,” said Hal. “Now what do you think of that?” They read it through together. Eight whole pages. It was almost exactly as Hal had written it. The editor had changed a word here and there and it was illustrated with imaginative pictures of Hans at the Grand Central, Hans dealing with the driver of the funeral coach, Hans hanging out of the bath-room window, and every kind of way. “By George,” said Hans. “You are an author and it would be rude to lick an author, but you won’t have to canvass for the magazine subscribers for a month or two anyhow.” “Well, you won’t either,” said Hal. “We’ll divide it up and when the money’s spent, I’ll send you on another trip to New York, and if you can get something else to happen to you, I may be able to get another story.”