ANOTHER COMPLICATION There came a time when Burton finished his novel.

He wrapped it up very carefully in brown paper and set out to call upon his friend the sub-editor.

He gained his sanctum without any particular trouble and was warmly greeted.
"Why haven't you brought us anything lately ?" the sub-editor asked.
Burton tapped the parcel which he was carrying.
"I have written a novel," he said.
The sub-editor was not in the least impressed--in fact he shook his head.
"There are too many novels," he declared.
"I am afraid," Burton replied, "that there will have to be one more, or else I must starve." "Why have you brought it here, anyhow ?" "I thought you might tell me what to do with it," Burton answered, diffidently.
The sub-editor sighed and drew a sheet of note-paper towards him.

He wrote a few lines and put them in an envelope.
"There is a letter of introduction to a publisher," he explained.
"Frankly, I don't think it is worth the paper it is written on.
Nowadays, novels are published or not, either according to their merit or the possibility of their appealing to the public taste." Burton looked at the address.
"Thank you very much," he said.

"I will take this in myself." "When are you going to bring us something ?" the sub-editor inquired.
"I am going home to try and write something now," Burton replied.