"Mrs. Langdon," he said kindly, "I am glad to see you. Be seated." She took a seat. She turned to Mildred, who looked as though she felt she was intruding, and said:
"It is nothing private!"
She drew from her bag a few sheets of paper, and, smoothing them out, she handed them to the editor with: "Here is a little article I have written, in honor of the young lady who is soon to make her appearance here in recital, as you know, and which has been well advertised. I wish to have you publish it in your paper," and then she smiled sweetly and affected much modesty, as she added: "It will not be necessary that you mention the same is written by me."
"But I wish you to have all that is your due, Mrs. Langdon," he protested.
"Oh, very well, then," she said, and rising, with a few more words, she took her leave.
Jones glanced over the page, and then started. "Excuse me just a moment, Miss," he begged, and read the pages which were neatly written and punctuated. When he had finished, he smiled and said, under his breath: "That is certainly nerve."
Mildred regarded him curiously. He looked at her, and handed the manuscript across the desk, saying: "Please read it."
She obeyed, and when she was through, said: "It is a nice eulogy," and then her face showed the wonderment because of his expression of a moment ago.
"Yes," he agreed, "it is nice, but take a glance at this," and forthwith drew from the top of the desk, a pamphlet with the picture of an attractive colored girl thereon.
Mildred observed the picture, and then read the article on the other three pages. When she saw the editor's face again, she understood, but she didn't say, in fact, she didn't know what to say. The editor continued: