GIRLS WANTED
FOR THE
BAZAR AND YOUNG PEOPLE.
STEADY EMPLOYMENT
FOR
SOBER, INDUSTRIOUS POETS.
TWO RHYMES TO THE QUATRAIN.
But before Mr. Harper could carry out his resolution, a young man, clad in the ordinary working-garb of a poet, hurriedly entered the office, and, placing himself before the chief, exclaimed:
“Stop, sir, before it is too late!”
“And who are you, sir?” demanded the amazed publisher.
“I am Henry Rondeau,” replied the young man, “and although I am only a humble, laboring poet, I feel that I can be of assistance to you to-day. I have a grateful heart, and cannot forget your kindness to me when I was unfortunate.”
“Kindness? I confess that I do not remember any—” began Mr. Harper; but the poet interrupted him with: “Last summer, sir, when I got my fingers frost-bitten by being permitted to shake hands with Mr. Harry Harper, you not only allowed me half-pay, but gave my poor idiot sister a job in the factory as a reader of manuscript, thus enabling us to keep the wolf from the door until I was able to use a scanning-rule again.”