"Has the whole town suddenly turned literary, Peggy ?" "No; jest me 'n' Skim.

Skim says my pome's no good; but I sort o' like it, myself." "Let me see it," said Patsy, ignoring this time the literary editor, who was glad to be relieved of the responsibility of disappointing another budding author.
Peggy handed over the foolscap, and Patsy eagerly read the "pome." "Listen, Louise! Listen, Beth!" she called, delightedly.

"Here is certainly a real 'pome,' and on aviation--the latest fad: "'SKY HIGH BY MARSHALL MCMAHON MCNUTT of Millville dealer in Real Estate Spring Chickens &c.
1.
I sigh Too fly Up high In the sky.
2.
But my Wings air shy And so I cry A sad goodby Too fly- Ing.'" A chorus of hilarious laughter followed the reading, and then Patsy wiped her eyes and exclaimed: "Peggy, you are not only a poet but a humorist.

This is one of the best short poems I ever read." "It's short 'cause I run out o' rhymes," admitted Peggy.
"But it's a gem, what there is of it." "Don't, dear," remonstrated Louise; "don't poke fun at the poor man." "Poke fun?
Why, I'm going to print that poem in the _Tribune_, as sure as my name's Patricia Doyle! It's too good for oblivion." "I dunno," remarked Peggy, uncertainly, "whether it's wuth fifty dollars, er about--" "About forty-nine less," said Patsy.

"A poem of that length brings about fifty cents in open market, but I'll be liberal.