“After which continuous reduction in the sizes of the brain children,” I commented, “there’ll be nothing left for you but to write a new form of the standard wireless emergency sea call. Some clever variant, say, on S.O.S. Something snappy—like O.S.S.—or S.S.O. But see here—you got your story accepted, you say?—now, my customers don’t accept my collar-buttons—at least not with complacency!—but they actually fork over 25 cents. So the point is: did you—or didn’t you—get paid?”
“Did—I—get—paid? Bill, that’s what their acceptance was. They—they said it with dollars! They sent me a check by airmail special-delivery! It reached me at 6 this morning.”
“They did? And via airmail? But, honey, you don’t have anything here but—but pony express, do you?”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve an airfield just 10
