He came in. I could see from the straight, honest look in his features that he was a man to be relied upon.
"Jones," I said, "can you read?"
"Yes, sir," he said, "some."
"Very good. I want you to take this manuscript and read it. Read it all through and then bring it back here."
The janitor took the manuscript and disappeared. I turned to my desk again and was soon absorbed in arranging a full-page display of plumbers' furnishings for the advertising. It had occurred to me that by arranging the picture matter in a neat device with verses from "Home Sweet Home" running through it in double-leaded old English type, I could set up a page that would be the delight of all business readers and make this number of the magazine a conspicuous success. My mind was so absorbed that I scarcely noticed that over an hour elapsed before the janitor returned.
"Well, Jones," I said as he entered, "have you read that manuscript?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you find it all right—punctuation good, spelling all correct?"
"Very good indeed, sir."
"And there is, I trust, nothing of what one would call a humorous nature in it? I want you to answer me quite frankly, Jones,—there is nothing in it that would raise a smile, or even a laugh, is there?"
