A well-known publisher has the entrance to his private office guarded
by one of his editors, a small man, who, as the day wears on, sinks
down in a little heap in his high-backed chair under the weight of
the manuscripts he has to read. The publisher was exceedingly proud
of his friendship with a prominent Congressman, who usually called
when he was in New York.

One day the huge form of the Speaker of the House of Representatives
loomed up before the little editor, with the evident intent of
bearing down upon the private office.

"Back!" shouted the little editor, waving a slender arm with much
vigor. "Back! Go back to the offith and thend in your card."

The Congressman paused, inclined his head to view the obstacle that
opposed his progress, and smiled. Then he turned on his heel and did
as he was directed.

Of course the publisher bustled out personally to conduct the great
man into the private office. When his visitor had departed the
publisher came forth in a rage. The little editor shriveled before
him as he began:

"What do you mean by holding up one of my oldest friends in this
fashion? Don't you know he's at perfect liberty to walk into my
office at any time without so much as knocking?"

"Yeth," admitted the little editor feebly.

"Then what do you mean by holding him up and subjecting him to such