"Mention one," said Ned.
| "'Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November,'" |
said Phaeton.
"That's true," said Ned; "but it's only because the words happen to come so. At any rate, you've greatly lessened my respect for poetry, and I don't know whether I'd better publish them, after all."
"These poems?—were you going to publish them?" said Phaeton.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To make a little money for Jimmy. You know his folks are very poor," said Ned.
"The papers wont pay you anything for them," said Phaeton. "Alec Barnes's sister had a poem two columns long in the Vindicator last week, and Alec told me she didn't get a cent for it."
"But we're going to make a book of them," said Ned. "You can make money on a book, can't you?"