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 eaught how to fly. James seems to get quite a kick out of it.

"I think I'll take this guy," he remarks, as he looks up from the reference.

"Fine!" says the delighted applicant. "That's a good thought. I'll snap right into it and"

"Tomato sauce!" butts in James sneeringly. "I don't wish no part of you, the baby I want to hire is the bozo which wrote this recommendation of you. He's good, what I mean, a letter writin' idiot!"

"A bit odd that we should both be thinking the same thing," says Mr. Press Agent coolly. "As a matter of fact, I wrote that recommendation myself. So now that I'm engaged as your publicity expert, let me have a few of your photos and"

The following morning nearly every front page in town displayed a picture of James Burns and this glaring headline:

That was the press agent's first effort and, as far as I was ever able to see, his last. But it got ample results!

Within a week, Jimmy Burns had discovered what millions have discovered before his little day—that the mere possession of lucre does not mean happiness, and for some it means positive misery! Not only did