said the other night, it is a possible story, since I conceived it,
and what the mind of mortal can conceive, can happen."

"The trouble," said the Journalist, "with chaps like you, and the
Critic, is that your people are all framework. They're not a bit of
flesh and blood."

"I'd like to know," said the Sculptor, throwing himself back in his
chair, "who has a right to decide that?"

"What I'd like to know," said the Youngster, "is, what did she do
between times? Of course he sculpted, and earned slathers of money.
But she--?"

"Oh, ouch--help!" cried the Sculptor. "Do I know?"

"Exactly!" answered the Critic, "and that you don't sticks out in
every line of your story."

"Goodness me, you might ask the same thing about Leda, or Helen of
Troy."

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the Doctor. "But we know what they did!"

"A lot you do. It is because they are old classics, and you accept
them, whereas my story is quite new and original--and you were
unprepared for it, and so you can't appreciate it. Anyway, it's my
first-born story, and I'll defend it with my life."

Only a laugh replied to the challenge, and the attitude of defense he