popular novelist's conceit will cause him to bristle up a little.

"You know," said one, fishing for compliments, "I get richer and richer,
but all the same I think my work is falling off. My new work is not so
good as my old."

"Oh, nonsense!" said Mr. Howells. "You write just as well as you ever
did. Your taste is improving, that's all."


James Oliver Curwood, a novelist, tells of a recent encounter with the
law. The value of a short story he was writing depended upon a certain
legal situation which he found difficult to manage. Going to a lawyer of
his acquaintance he told him the plot and was shown a way to the desired
end. "You've saved me just $100," he exclaimed, "for that's what I am
going to get for this story."

A week later he received a bill from the lawyer as follows: "For
literary advice, $100." He says he paid.


"Tried to skin me, that scribbler did!"

"What did he want?"

"Wanted to get out a book jointly, he to write the book and I to write
the advertisements. I turned him down. I wasn't going to do all the
literary work."