Meeson, Addison, and Roscoe?
"And to think," as the Mighty Meeson himself would say, with a lordly wave of his right hand, to some astonished wretch of an author whom he has chosen to overwhelm with the sight of this magnificence, "to think that all this comes out of the brains of chaps like you! Why, young man, I tell you that if all the money that has been paid to you scribblers since the days of Elizabeth were added together it would not come up to my little pile; but, mind you, it ain't so much fiction that has done the trick--it's religion.

It's piety as pays, especially when it's printed." Then the unsophisticated youth would go away, his heart too full for words, but pondering how these things were, and by-and-by he would pass into the Meeson melting-pot and learn something about it.
One day King Meeson sat in his counting house counting out his money, or, at least, looking over the books of the firm.

He was in a very bad temper, and his heavy brows were wrinkled up in a way calculated to make the counting-house clerks shake on their stools.

Meeson's had a branch establishment at Sydney, in Australia, which establishment had, until lately, been paying--it is true not as well as the English one, but, still, fifteen or twenty per cent.

But now a wonder had come to pass.