"But we would have sent it to you, nevertheless," retorted the editor,
"if we had not discovered in time that the poems were stolen."

"Where would you have sent it?" asked Mr. Aram. "I never gave you a
right address, did I? I ask you, did I?"

The editor paused in some confusion, "Well, if you did not want the
money, what did you want?" he exclaimed. "I must say I should like to
know."

Mr. Aram rocked himself to and fro, and gazed at his two inquisitors
with troubled eyes. "I didn't see any harm in it then," he repeated. "I
don't see any harm in it now. I didn't ask you for any money. I sort of
thought," he said, confusedly, "that I should like to see my name in
print. I wanted my friends to see it. I'd have liked to have shown it
to--to--well, I'd like my wife to have seen it. She's interested in
literature and books and magazines and things like that. That was all I
wanted. That's why I did it."

The reporter looked up askance at the editor, as a prompter watches the
actor to see if he is ready to take his cue.

"How do I know that?" demanded the editor, sharply. He found it somewhat
difficult to be severe with this poet, for the man admitted so much so
readily, and would not defend himself. Had he only blustered and grown
angry and ordered them out, instead of sitting helplessly there rocking
to and fro and picking at the back of his hands, it would have made it
so much easier. "How do we know," repeated the editor, "that you did not
intend to wait until the poems had appeared, and then send us your real
address and ask for the money, saying that you had moved since you had