Phaeton laughed.
"They don't do business for any such small profits as that," said he.
"I've heard Father tell of a man," said Ned, "that made his fortune when wheat rose three cents on a bushel. And who wouldn't rather have a volume of Jimmy's poems than a bushel of wheat? If nobody happened to buy the wheat for a year or two, it would spoil; but that volume of poems could stand on the shelf in the book-store for twenty years, and be just as good at the end of that time as the day it was put there."
"All that sounds very well," said Phaeton; "but you'd better talk with some one that knows about it, before you rush into the enterprise."
"I'll go and see Jack-in-the-Box, of course," said Ned. "He must know all about books. I never yet asked him anything that he didn't know all about."
Ned could hardly wait for the night to pass away, and when the next day came, off we posted once more to see Jack-in-the-Box. When we got there, Ned plunged at once into the business, before we had fairly said good morning.
"Jack," said he, "did you ever publish a book?"
Jack blushed, and asked why he wanted to know.
"I am thinking of publishing one," said Ned.
"Indeed?" said Jack. "I didn't know that you had written one."