of pounds to him. He longed, too, to show his true quality to the world. Could he but hear himself acclaimed a great or even a true poet, he would think the experience cheaply bought by all the annoyances which "Trixie" had occasioned him.
So one morning he called at the offices of Messrs. Capper with his poems in his pocket and put it to Mr. Indermaur.
Dunkle was much too important an author to be hacked into the street. Mr. Indermaur succeeded in restraining himself. He said: "Poems, Mr. Dunkle? Delightful. Most interesting. Indeed, I had no idea that you wrote verse. We shall of course, be proud to be privileged to peruse them. But I ought to tell you, Mr. Dunkle, that we are not the right people for poems. We have never yet published any, and, frankly, we have not the machinery
