on other things. "I have to go out of town to-night. You'll be here,
won't you, to lock the presses? And, see here, Leo, what is the matter
with our book page?"

"Pretty rotten page," replied Klein.

"I should say it was--all about taxes and strikes and economic crises.
I told Green never to touch those things in the book reviews.
Our readers get all they want of that from us in the news and the
editorials--hotter, better stuff, too. I've told him not to touch
'em in the book page, and he runs nothing else. He ought to
be beautiful--ought to talk about fairies, and poetry, and
twelfth-century art. What's the matter with him?"

"He doesn't know anything," said Klein. "That's his trouble. He's
clever, but he doesn't know much. I guess he only began to read books
a couple years ago. They excite him too much. He wouldn't read a fairy
story. He'd think he was wasting time."

"Get some one to help him out."

"Who'd I get?"

"Look about. I've got to go home and pack a bag. Ask Miss Cox what
time that Newport boat leaves."

"Newport! Great heavens, Ben! What is this? A little week-end?"

"A little weak brother, Leo."