A FAT LITTLE EDITOK. 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?" 



