A Sure Method
The editor sat in his palatially furnished bending over a mass of , resting his upon his hand. It wanted but one hour of the time of going to press and there was that editorial on the Venezuelan question to write. A pale, intellectual youth approached him with a rolled tied with a pink .
“It is a little thing,” said the youth, “that I dashed off in an idle moment.”
The editor unrolled the poem and glanced down the long row of verses. He then drew from his pocket a $20 bill and held it toward the . A heavy was heard, and at the of an electric bell the editor’s minions entered and carried the lifeless form of the poet away.
“That’s three today,” the great editor as he returned the bill to his pocket. “It works better than a gun or a club and the always brings in a of heart failure.”