"Permit me to introduce my friend, Harry Walton," said Oscar.
"Harry, where is your story?"
"I have brought you in a story," said Harry, blushing. "It is my first attempt, and may not suit you, but I shall be glad if you will take the trouble to examine it."
"With pleasure," said the editor. "Is it long?"
"About two columns. It is of a humorous character."
The editor reached out his hand, and, taking the manuscript, unrolled it. He read the first few lines, and they seemed to strike his attention.
"If you will amuse yourselves for a few minutes, I will read it at once," he said. "I don't often do it, but I will break over my custom this time."
"Thank you, sir," said Harry.
"There are some of my exchanges," said the editor, pointing to a pile on the floor. "You may find something to interest you in some of them."
They picked up some papers, and began to read. But Harry could not help thinking of the verdict that was to be pronounced on his manuscript. Upon that a great deal hinged. If he could feel that he was able to produce anything that would command compensation, however small, it would make him proud and happy. He tried, as he gazed furtively over his paper at the editor's face, to anticipate his decision, but the latter was too much accustomed to reading manuscript to show the impression made upon him.
Fifteen minutes passed, and he looked up.