Stretching out perilously from his snug bed he gathered the
waste-basket into his arms and commenced to dig in it like a sportive
terrier. After a messy minute or two he successfully excavated the
crumpled little gray tissue circular and smoothed it out carefully on
his humped-up knees. The expression in his eyes all the time was
quite a curious mixture of mischief and malice and rheumatism.

"After all" he reasoned, out of one corner of his mouth, "After all,
perhaps I have misjudged Cornelia. Maybe it's only that she really
doesn't know just what a love-letter OUGHT to be like."

Then with a slobbering fountain-pen and a few exclamations he
proceeded to write out a rather large check and a very small note.

"TO THE SERIAL-LETTER CO." he addressed himself brazenly.
"For the enclosed check--which you will notice doubles the
amount of your advertised price--kindly enter my name for a
six weeks' special 'edition de luxe' subscription to one of
your love-letter serials. (Any old ardor that comes most
convenient) Approximate age of victim: 32. Business status:
rubber broker. Prevalent tastes: To be able to sit up and
eat and drink and smoke and go to the office the way other
fellows do. Nature of illness: The meanest kind of
rheumatism. Kindly deliver said letters as early and often
as possible!

"Very truly yours, etc."

Sorrowfully then for a moment he studied the depleted balance in his