lip, the course was seen to swerve slightly to one side. His upper
lip assumed almost any form and at all times. His mouth ran across
his face in a thin line, curved by waves according to the smiles and
expressions he employed. Below those features was a chin of fine
proportions, showing nothing to require study, but in his jaw hinges
there was a device that worked splendidly, when he wished to show
unction and charity, by sending out his chin on such occasions in
the kindest advances one would wish to see.

It was not long before Sarah became Mrs. John R. Quinley.

I hear that the authors are going to unionize themselves and join the
A.F. of L. The word "author" carries no sanctity with me: I have read
too many of them. If their forming a trade union will better the output
of American literature I am keen for it. I know that the professional
reader has a jaundiced eye; insensibly he acquires a parallax which
distorts his vision. Reading incessantly, now fiction, now history,
poetry, essays, philosophy, science, exegetics, and what not, he becomes
a kind of pantechnicon of slovenly knowledge; a knower of thousands of
things that aren't so. Every crank's whim, every cretin's philosophy, is
fired at him first of all. Every six months comes in the inevitable
treatise on the fourth dimension or on making gold from sea-water, or on
using moonlight to run dynamos, or on Pope Joan or Prester John. And
with it all he must retain his simple-hearted faith in the great art of
writing and in the beneficence of Gutenberg.

Manuscript readers need a trade union far worse than authors. There is
all too little clannishness among us. We who are the helpless target for
the slings and arrows of every writer who chooses to put pen on
foolscap--might we not meet now and then for the humour of exchanging