The thought came to him that he was not a good judge of his own work. He tried it out on Gertrude. He read his stories aloud to her. Her eyes glistened, and she looked at him proudly as she said:-
"Ain't it grand, you writin' those sort of things."
"Yes, yes," he demanded impatiently. "But the story - how did you like it?"
"Just grand," was the reply. "Just grand, an' thrilling, too. I was all worked up."
He could see that her mind was not clear. The perplexity was strong in her good-natured face. So he waited.
"But, say, Mart," after a long pause, "how did it end? Did that young man who spoke so highfalutin' get her?"
And, after he had explained the end, which he thought he had made artistically obvious, she would say:-
"That's what I wanted to know. Why didn't you write that way i
