"You're right," said Jackman, "we don't need literature on this paper--long
words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. What we want is
just plain, simple English that goes straight to the point."

"Like Shakespeare's and Bunyan's," suggested Kittredge with a grin.

"Shakespeare? Fudge!" scoffed Jackman. "Why he couldn't have made a living
as a space-writer on a New York newspaper."

"No, I don't think he would have staid long in Park Row," replied Kittredge
with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman.

A few days before New Year's the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as
Howard was passing his desk.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"Oh, not so badly," Howard answered, "but I am a good deal depressed at
times."

"Depressed? Nonsense! You've got everything--youth, health and freedom.
And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our rule is a
year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time to
strengthen the rule by making an exception."

Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped
apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for
him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars a
week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not
having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare their