A FAT LITTLE EDITOE. 75 



piles of leaves and built a big fire, and so 

 night rolled by in all her starry splendor 

 as the men slept soundly all about beneath, 

 the lordly pines. But alas for the fat little 

 editor; he did not like the scenery, and he 

 would not stay. We saw him to the sta 

 tion on his way back to his little sanctum. 

 He said he was satisfied. He had seen the 

 "bar." His last words were, as he pulled 

 himself close together in a modest corner 

 in the car and smiled feebly: "Say, boys, 

 you won't let it get in the papers, will 

 you?" 



