"Does it?" asked Oscar. "Mine has been beating for a number of
years."
"You are too matter-of-fact for me, Oscar. If it was your own story,
you might feel differently."
"Shall I pass it off as my own, and make the negotiation?"
Harry was half tempted to say yes, but it occurred to him that this
might prove an embarrassment in the future, and he declined the
proposal.
They climbed rather a dark, and not very elegant staircase, and found
themselves before No. 6.
Harry knocked, or was about to do so, when a young lady with long
ringlets, and a roll of manuscript in her hand, who had followed them
upstairs advanced confidently, and, opening the door, went in. The
two boys followed, thinking the ceremony of knocking needless.
They found themselves in a large room, one corner of which was
partitioned off for the editor's sanctum. A middle-aged man was
directing papers in the larger room, while piles of papers were
ranged on shelves at the sides of the apartment.
The two boys hesitated to advance, but the young lady in ringlets
went on, and entered the office through the open door.
"We'll wait till she is through," said Harry.
It was easy to hear the conversation that passed between the young
lady and the editor, whom they could not see.
"Good-morning, Mr. Houghton," she said.
"Good-morning. Take a seat, please," said the editor, pleasantly.
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