The Editor: Heavens! Circulation down to nothing, coal-bin down to nothing, wood-pile down to nothing. If something doesn't n't turn up soon, I'll freeze.
Poet (entering): I would like to leave this poem, in the hope that you will be able to use it. Good-day!
The Editor: Able to use it? Well, I should smile!
The Editor (writing): Mr. T. Emerson Gibbs. - Your poem is accepted, and will be paid for on publication. We would like to add that there is more poetic warmth in these verses than in any we have received, lately.