By the time he had finished and turned again to Fulkerson, Fulkerson was saying: "I did think we could have the first number out by New-Year's; but it will take longer than that--a month longer; but I'm not sorry, for the holidays kill everything; and by February, or the middle of February, people will get their breath again and begin to look round and ask what's new.

Then we'll reply in the language of Shakespeare and Milton, 'Every Other Week; and don't you forget it.'" He took down his leg and asked, "Got a pipe of 'baccy anywhere ?" Beaton nodded at a clay stem sticking out of a Japanese vase of bronze on his mantel.

"There's yours," he said; and Fulkerson said, "Thanks," and filled the pipe and sat down and began to smoke tranquilly.
Beaton saw that he would have to speak now.

"And what do you want with me ?" "You?
Oh yes," Fulkerson humorously dramatized a return to himself from a pensive absence.

"Want you for the art department." Beaton shook his head.