writer!"

Embury laughed. "That's as close as I've ever come to it," he
said.

"Yep, that's the commonest stunt. That and the ghostly good-by
appearance of a friend that's dyin' at the time in a distant
land."

"Aren't those cases ever true?" Eunice asked.

"'Bout two per cent of 'em. Most of those that have been traced
down to actual evidence have fizzled out. Well, I must be going.
You see, now, I've sold this whole spiel that I've just given you
folks to a big newspaper syndicate, and I got well paid. That
puts me on Easy Street, for the time bein', and I'm going to
practice up for a new stunt. When you hear again of Willy
Hanlon, it'll be in a very different line of goods!"

"What?" asked Eunice, interestedly.

"'Scuse me, ma'am. I'd tell you, if I'd tell anybody. But, you
see, it ain't good business. I just thought up a new line of
work and I'm going to take time to perfect myself in it, and then
spring it on a long-sufferin' public."

"No, I won't ask you to tell, of course," Eunice agreed, "but
when you give an exhibition, if it's near New York, let me know,
won't you?"