Not," he continued, with a courteously deprecating wave of the hand, "ez you hain't bin kind to her--mebbe TOO kind.

For thar's the purty letter you writ her, thar's the perlite, easy, captivatin' way you had with her gals and that boy--hold on!"-- as the editor made a gesture of despairing renunciation,--"I ain't sayin' you ain't right in keepin' it to yourself,--and thar's the extry money you sent her every time.

Stop! she knows it was EXTRY, for she made a p'int o' gettin' me to find out the market price o' po'try in papers and magazines, and she reckons you've bin payin' her four hundred per cent.

above them figgers--hold on! I ain't sayin' it ain't free and liberal in you, and I'd have done the same thing; yet SHE thinks"-- But the editor had risen hastily to his feet with flushing cheeks.
"One moment, Mr.Bowers," he said, hurriedly.

"This is the most dreadful blunder of all.