of the artist, the author, the actor, and the Bohemian. It was in
these that Archie spent most of his time, and it was here that he
made the acquaintance of J. B. Wheeler, the popular illustrator.

To Mr. Wheeler, over a friendly lunch, Archie had been confiding
some of his ambitions to qualify as the hero of one of the Get-on-
or-get-out-young-man-step-lively-books.

"You want a job?" said Mr. Wheeler.

"I want a job," said Archie.

Mr. Wheeler consumed eight fried potatoes in quick succession. He
was an able trencherman.

"I always looked on you as one of our leading lilies of the field,"
he said. "Why this anxiety to toil and spin?"

"Well, my wife, you know, seems to think it might put me one-up with
the jolly old dad if I did something."

"And you're not particular what you do, so long as it has the outer
aspect of work?"

"Anything in the world, laddie, anything in the world."

"Then come and pose for a picture I'm doing," said J. B. Wheeler.
"It's for a magazine cover. You're just the model I want, and I'll
pay you at the usual rates. Is it a go?"