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 ment I beg leave to drop into personalities once more.

Years ago in a mid-West city of 20,000 inhabitants and one daily paper, I found that I had to put my ability as a writer to more regular and better financial account. I called to see the editor of the one daily paper. He said his staff was complete, but I insisted on having something to do—just to show him that I could write. He said: "Go write up the squirrels in the park."

Now, natural history was so much Greek to me, but I had to convince him. I spent a morning in the park, watched the squirrels and talked with the watchman. The next Sunday that paper printed a column about the habits and tricks of the park squirrels—for which I never received a cent.

The staff was still full. If I had any new department or idea to suggest, "perhaps," said the editor vaguely.

The women's clubs were just then coming into prominence. I begged space for a department devoted to club meetings—and got it, with a salary of five dollars a week, providing the department made good. Can you imagine, you girls who want to write up sensational murders, the mad excitement of reporting a dozen or more literary meetings a week, and trying to make the matter readable?