Finally he succeeded in finding the editor's hand, and shook it, albeit his own trembled slightly.

Then he said:-- "I reckon you're right.

There's bin a mistake.

I see it now.

Good-by.
If you're ever up my way, drop in and see me." He then walked to the doorway, passed out, and seemed to melt into the afternoon shadows of the hall.
He never again entered the office of the "Excelsior Magazine," neither was any further contribution ever received from White Violet.