"Is it? Well perhaps you don't look in the right place."

Waldemar reached for the morning's copy of the Universal and ran his
eye down the columns of "classified" matter. "Hark to this," he
said, and read:

"Is there any work on God's green
earth for a man who has just got
to have it?"

"Or this:

"WANTED--A venerable looking man with
white beard and medical degree. Good
pay to right applicant."

"What's that?" asked Average Jones with awakened interest.

"Only a quack medical concern looking for a stall to impress their
come-ons," explained Waldemar.

Average Jones leaned over to scan the paper in his turn.

"Here's one," said he, and read:

WANTED--Performer on B-flat trombone.
Can use at once. Apply with instrument,
after 1 p. m. 300 East 100th Street.

"That seems ordinary enough," said Waldemar.