Ghosts I have Met and Some Others

"Signed your name to 'em. There was a sonnet to 'A Coal Grab'--that
was the longest of the lot. I think it will cover at least six
magazine pages--"

"But," I cried, "a sonnet never contains more than fourteen lines--
you--fool!"

"Oh yes, it does," he replied, calmly. "This one of yours had over
four hundred. And then I wrote a three-page quatrain on
'Immortality,' which, if I do say it, is the funniest thing I ever
read. I sent that to the _Weekly Methodist_."

"Good Lord, good Lord, good Lord!" I moaned. "A three-page
quatrain!"

"Yes," he observed, calmly lighting one of his accursed cigars. "And
you'll get all the credit."

A ray of hope entered my soul, and it enabled me to laugh
hysterically. "They'll know it isn't mine," said I. "They know my
handwriting at the office of the _Weekly Methodist_."

"No doubt," said he, dashing all my hopes to the ground. "But--ah--
to remedy that drawback I took pains to find out what type-writer
you used, and I had my quatrain copied on one of the same make."

"But the letter--the note with the manuscript?" I put in.

"Oh, I got over that very easily," he said. "I had that written also
on the machine, on thin paper, and traced your signature at the
bottom. It will be all right, my dear fellow. They'll never
suspect."