Miss Maud elevated her eyebrows slightly. Was it likely that she
would have looked with eyes of favour upon a young man engaged in
any of these inferior occupations?

"There's money in books, too," Mr. Barnes declared with sudden
inspiration. His prospective son-in-law turned towards him
deferentially.

"You are right, sir," he admitted. "There is money in them. There's
money for those who write, and there's money for those who sell. My
occupation," he continued, with a modest little cough, "brings me
often into touch with publishers, travellers and clerks, so I am, as
it were, behind the scenes to some extent. I can assure you," he
continued, looking from Mr. Barnes to his wife, and finally
transfixing Mr. Adolphus - "I can assure you that the money paid by
some firms of publishers to a few well-known authors - I will mention
no names - as advances against royalties, is something stupendous!"

"Ah!" Mr. Barnes murmured, solemnly shaking his head.

"Marie Corelli, I expect, and that Hall Caine," remarked young
Adolphus.

"Seems easy enough to write a book, too," Mrs. Barnes said. "Why, I
declare that some of those we get from the library - we subscribe to
a library, Mr. Fitzgerald - are just as simple and straightforward that
a child might have written them. No plot whatsoever, no murders or
mysteries or anything of that sort - just stories about people like
ourselves. I don't see how they can pay people for writing stories