"Jane, while you were working for all of us, did you write, too?"
Jane nodded.
"Don't interrupt, Bobs. Enter hero—a great critic—a literary light. Reads heroine's work—hails her genius of the age—rushes her to publishers, who press gold upon her and accept her immortal opus!"
He paused to inspect Jane, who smiled at him.
"Go on with act three. That's only two acts," cried Bobs.
"Act three isn't written yet. It develops story of insignificant husband, formerly brilliant but impoverished artist, and the chie-ild."
"Well, well, well!" said Bobs. "I never was so excited. I always knew you'd create something, Jane, and now...."
"May I call attention to her other creation—Mr. Jerry Paxton Jr.?" said Jerry.
"He's important, but anybody can have a baby and so few people can write books!" said Bobs.
"You women! I reverse it! Anybody can write a book, but so few women can have a son like Jerry. That's the set of volumes I wish her to complete."