lifetime."

This sort of talk from a stranger might have been the prelude to an
appeal for financial assistance.

He dissipated that half-born thought.

"Don't be uneasy," he said; "you have not been lured up here by the
ruse of a clever borrower. I can do a bit of touching when in the mood,
mind you, but you're safe. You are here because I see that you are a
pleasant fellow."

"Thank you," I said.

"Besides," he continued, "I am not hungry at present. In fact, I shall
never be hungry again."

"You're lucky," I remarked.

"I am. I am the fortunate possessor of the knack of writing
advertisements."

"Indeed," I said, feeling awkward, for I saw that I ought to be
impressed.

"Ah!" he said, laughing outright. "You're not impressed in the least,
really. But I'll ask you to consider what advertisements mean. First,
they are the life-essence of every newspaper, every periodical, and
every book."