So we tell you plain, without meanin' no harm, that WE don't know who you are, nor what you'd do with Susan, once you got her to New York." "Oh, I now what you want," said Mrs.Smith; "you want references." "Them's it," said Mrs.Bell, with great relief.
"Well," said Mrs.Smith, "that is easy.

I know EVERYBODY in New York." She thought a moment.
"There's Mr.Murray, of MURRAY'S MAGAZINE," she suggested, mentioning her friend of the great monthly magazine.
"Guess we never heard of that," said Mrs.Bell doubtfully.
"Then do you know the AEON MAGAZINE?
I know the editor of AEON." The neighbors and Mrs.Bell looked at each other blankly, and shook their heads.
Mrs.Smith named ALL the magazines.

She had contributed stories to most of them, but not one was known, even by name, to her inquisitors.

One shy old lady asked faintly if she had ever heard of Mr.Tweed.

She thought she had heard of a Mister Tweed of New York, once.
Then, quite suddenly, Mrs.Smith remembered her own brother, the great Marriott Nolan Tarbro, whose romances sold in editions of hundreds of thousands, and who was, beyond all doubt, the greatest living novelist.
Kings had been glad to meet him, and newsboys and gamins ran shouting at his heels when he walked the streets.
"How silly of me," she said.