publishers of periodicals that other people read, and books that other
folks studied. The Sunday-school superintendent henceforth became a
figure of importance in Edward's eyes; many a morning the boy hastened
from home long before the hour for school, and seated himself on the
steps of the Elkins house under the pretext of waiting for Mr. Elkins's
son to go to school, but really for the secret purpose of seeing Mr.
Elkins set forth to engage in the momentous business of making books and
periodicals. Edward would look after the superintendent's form until it
was lost to view; then, with a sigh, he would go to school, forgetting
all about the Elkins boy whom he had told the father he had come to call
for!

One day Edward was introduced to a girl whose father, he learned, was
editor of the New York Weekly. Edward could not quite place this
periodical; he had never seen it, he had never heard of it. So he bought
a copy, and while its contents seemed strange, and its air unfamiliar in
comparison with the magazines he found in his home, still an editor was
an editor. He was certainly well worth knowing. So he sought his newly
made young lady friend, asked permission to call upon her, and to
Edward's joy was introduced to her father. It was enough for Edward to
look furtively at the editor upon his first call, and being encouraged
to come again, he promptly did so the next evening. The daughter has
long since passed away, and so it cannot hurt her feelings now to
acknowledge that for years Edward paid court to her only that he might
know her father, and have those talks with him about editorial methods
that filled him with ever-increasing ambition to tread the path that
leads to editorial tribulations.

But what with helping his mother, tending the baker's shop in
after-school hours, serving his paper route, plying his street-car