"I s'pose I kin turn out one a day，by hard work，"he said con？dently."At thirty a day，the lowes'price，thet's a hunderd'n'eighty a week，seven hunderd 'n'twenty a month，or over eight thousan'dollars a year.I got it all ？ggered out.It's lucky fer me the nabobs is rich，or they couldn't stan'the strain.Now，mar，ef ye want to see yer son a nabob hisself，some day，jes'think up a good name fer a detective.""Sherholmes Locke，"she said after some re？ection."No；this 'ere story's got ter be original.I thought o'
callin'him Suspectin'Algernon.Detectives is allus suspectin'something.""Algernon's high—toned，"mused the widow."Let it go atthat，Skim."All that day and far into the evening he sat at his task，pausing now and then for inspiration，but most of the time diligently pushing his pen over the strongly lined note paper and hopelessly straying froma the lines.Meantime，Mrs.Clark walked around on tiptoe，so as not to disturb him，and was reluctant even to call him to his meals in the kitchen.When Skim went to bed his story had got into an aggravatingb muddle，but during the next forenoon he managed to bring it to a triumphant ending.
"When I git used to the thing，mar，"he said，"I kin doone a day，easy.I had to be pertickler over this one，it bein'the ？rst."The widow read the story carefully，guessing at the words that were hopelessly indistinct.
"My！but it's a thriller，Skim，"she said with maternalenthusiasm；"but ye don't say why he killed the girl.""That don't matter，so long's he did it.""The spellin'don't allus seem quite right，"she added doubtfully.
"I guess the spellin's as good as the readin'll be，"heretorted，with evident irritation."I bet I spell as well as any o'the folks thet takes the paper.""And some words I can't make out.""Oh，the edytur'll fix that.Say，air ye tryin'to queer my story，mar ？Do ye set up to know more'n I do about story writin'？""No，"she said；"I ain't talented，Skim，an'you be.""What I orter hev，"he continued，reflectively，"is atypewriter.When I git two er three hunderd ahead perhaps I'll buy one—secondhand.""Kin ye buy one thet'll spell，Skim ？"she asked，as she made a neat roll of the manu and tied a pink hair ribbon around it.
Skim put on a collar and necktie and took his story across to the newspaper of？ce.
"I got a conter—bution fer the paper，"he said to Patsy，whoasked him his business.
"What，something original，Skim？"she asked in surprise.
"Ye've hit it right，Miss Doyle；it's a story.""Oh！""A detective story.""Dear me！Then you'll have to see Mrs.Weldon，who is our literary editor."Louise，who was sitting close by，looked up and held outher hand for the beribboneda roll.
"I don't jes'know，"remarked Skim，as he handed it across the table，"whether it's a thirty dollar deal，er a ？fty."Having forgotten Beth's editorial，Louise did not understand this remark，but she calmly unrolled Skim's manu and glanced at the scrawledb heading with an amused smile.
"'suspecting Algernon，'"she read aloud.
"'It were a dark and tedious night in the erly springtime while the snow were falling soft over the moon litt landscape.'Why，Skim，how came you to write this ？""It were the money，"he said boldly."I kin do one a day like this，at thirty dollers apiece，an'never feel the wear an'tear."Patsy giggled，but Louise stared with a wondering，puzzled expression at the crabbedc writing，the misspelled words and dreadful grammar.Indeed，she was a little embarrassed how to handle so delicate a situation.
"I'm afraid we cannot use your story，Mr.Clark，"she said gently，and remembering the formula that usually accompaniedher own rejected manus she added："This does not necessarily imply a lack of merit in your contribution，but is due to the fact that it is at present unavailable for our use."Skim stared at her in utter dismay.
"Ye mean ye won't take it ？"he asked with trembling lips."We have so much material on hand，just now，that wecannot possibly purchase more，"she said ？rmly，but feeling intensely sorry for the boy."It may be a good story—""It's the bes'story I ever heard of ！"declared Skim.
"But we have no place for it in the Millville Tribune，"she added，handing him back the roll.
Skim was terribly disappointed.Never，for a single moment，had he expected "sech a throwdown as this.""Seems to me like a bunco game，"he muttered savagely.
"First ye say in yer blamed ol'paper a story's wuth thirty to ？fty dollars，an'then when I bring ye a story ye won't pay a red cent fer it！""Stories，"suggested Louise，"are of various qualities，depending on the experience and talent of the author.An excellent story is often refused because the periodical to which it is offered is overstocked with similar material.Such conditions are often trying，Skim；I've had a good many manus rejected myself."But the boy would not be conciliated.
