"Which shows the value of a newspaper training. Newspaper men know everything," he said. "I had but one fear, and that was your American poets. They are hustlers, and I didn't know but that some enterprising American like Russell Sage or Barnum & Bailey would form a syndicate and corner America's poem-supply, and bowl my wickets from under me. Working together, they could have done it, but they didn't know their power, thank Heaven!—if I may borrow an Americanism."
"Well, Mr. Austin," said I, rising, "I am afraid I shall have to go. I fear your words have already exceeded the appropriation. Ah—how much do I owe you?"
The laureate took from beneath his chin a small golden object that looked like a locket. Opening it, he scanned it closely for a moment.
CONSULTING HIS CHINOMETER
"My chinometer says nine hundred and sixty-three words. Let us call it a thousand—I don't care for trifles," said he.
"Very well," I replied. "That is $7000 I owe you."
"Yes," he said. "But of course I allow you the usual discount."