literary production--preferably essays and poetry. She hired a room in
the same neighborhood as Mrs. Earle, in the boarding-house district
appurtenant to Central Avenue--that is to say, on the ragged edge of
Benham's social artery, and set up her new household gods. The interest
of preparing the first paper absorbed her to the exclusion of everything
else. She visited all the dress-making and dry-goods establishments in
town, examined, at a hint from Mrs. Earle, the fashion departments of
the New York papers, and then, pen in hand, gave herself up to her
subject. The result seemed to her a happy blending of timely philosophy
and suggestions as to toilette, and she took it in person to the editor.
He saw fit to read it on the spot. His brow wrinkled at first and he
looked dubious. He re-read it and said with some gusto, "It's a novelty,
but I guess they'll like it. Our women readers have been used to fashion
notes which are crisp and to the point, and the big houses expect to
have attention called to the goods they wish to sell. If you'll run over
this again and set your cold facts in little paragraphs by themselves
every now and then, I shouldn't wonder if the rest were a sort of
lecture course which will catch them. It's a good idea. Next time you
could work in a pathetic story--some references to a dead
baby--verses--anecdotes--a little variety. You perceive the idea?"

"Oh, yes," said Selma, appropriately sober at the allusion yet ecstatic.
"That's just what I should like to do. It would give me more scope. I
wish my articles to be of real use--to help people to live better, and
to dress better."

"That's right, that's right; and if they make the paper sell, we'll know
that folks like them," responded the editor with Delphic urbanity.

The first article was a success. That is, Selma's method was not