贝丝在《米尔维尔每日论坛报》上刊登的一篇关于知名作家收入颇丰的评论让佩吉·麦克纳特和克拉克红了眼，两人纷纷主动献出自己的作品希望大赚一把，却出现不同的结果……
We hear considerable of the "conventional people"of this world，but seldom meet with them；for，as soon as we begin to know a person，we discover peculiarities that quite remove him from the ranks of the conventional—if such ranks exist at all.The remark of the old Scotch divine to his good wife："Everybody's queer but thee and me，Nancy，and sometimes I think thee a little queer，"sums up human nature admirably.We seldom recognize our own queerness，but are prone to mark the erratica temperaments of others，and this is rathermore comfortable than to be annoyed by a consciousness of our personal de？cits.
The inhabitants of a country town are so limited in their experiences that we generally ？nd their personal characteristics very amusing.No amount of scholastic learning could have rendered the Millville people sophisticated，for contact with the world and humanity is the only true educator；but，as a matter of fact，there was little scholastic learning amongthem，with one or two exceptions，and the villagers asa rule were of limited intelligence.Every one was really a "character"，and Uncle John's nieces，who all possessed a keen sense of humor，enjoyed the oddities of the Millvillites immensely.
A humorous situation occurred through a seemingly innocent editorial of Beth on authorship.In the course of her remarks she said："A prominent author is stated to havea accumulated a large fortune by writing short stories for the newspapers and magazines.He is said to receive ten cents a word，and this unusual price is warranteda by the eagerdemand for his stories，of which the reading public is veryfond.However，the unknown author does not fareb so badly.The sum of from thirty to fifty dollars usually remitted for a short story pays the beginner a better recompensec，for the actual time he is engaged upon the work，than any other occupation he might undertake."This was seriously considered the morning it appeared in the Tribune by Peggy McNutt and Skim Clark，as they sat in the sunshine on the former's little front porch.Peggy had read it aloud in his laborious，halting way，and Skim listened with growing amazement.
"Thirty dollars ！"he cried；"thirty to ？fty fer a short story ！
Great Snakes，Peggy，I'm goin'into it."
"Heh ？Goin'into what ？"asked Peggy，raising his eyes from the paper.
"I kin write a story，"declared Skim con？dently.
"Ye kin，Skim ？"
"It's a cinchd，Peggy.Mother keeps all the magazines an'paper novils，an'we allus reads 'em afore we sells 'em.I've read the gol—durndest lot o'truck ye ever heard of，soI'm posted on stories in gen'ral.I'll write one an'sell it to the Millville Tribune.Do ye s'pose they'll give me the thirty，er the ？fty，Peggy ？""Anywheres between，they says.But one feller gits ten cents a word.Whew ！""I know；but he's a big one，which I ain't—just now.I'll take even the thirty，if I hev to.""I would，Skim，"advised Peggy，nodding approval."But make 'em put yer photograf in the paper，besides.Say，it'll be a big thing fer Millville to turn out a author.I didn't think it were in you，Skim.""Why，it hadn't struck me afore，"replied the youth，modestly."I've ben hankerin'to make money，without knowin'how to do it.I tell ye，Peggy，it pays to read the newspapers.This one's give me a hint how to carvea out a future career，an'I'll write a story as'll make them girl edyturs set up an'takenotice.""Make it someth'n''bout Injuns，"suggested Peggy."I ain't read a Injun story fer years.""No；they're out o'fashion，"observed Skim loftily.
"What folks want now is a detective story.Feller sees a hole in a fence an'says，'Ha！there's ben a murder！'Somebody asks what makes him think so，an'the detective feller says，takin'out a magnifie—in'glass，'Thet hole's a bullet—hole，an'the traces o'blood aroun'the edges shows the bullet went through ahuman body afore it went through the fence.''then，'says some one，'where's the body？''That，'says the detective，'is what we mus'diskiver.'So the story goes on to show how the body were diskivered an'who did the murderin'.""By Jupe，thet's great！"cried Peggy admiringly."Skim，ye're a wonder！""Ma allus said I were good fer somethin'，but she couldn't tell what.""It's story—writin'，"declared Peggy "Say，Skim，I put yeonter this deal；don't I git a rake—off a on thet ？fty dollars？""Not a cent ！"said Skim indignantly."Ye didn't tell me towrite a story；I said myself as I could do it.An'I know where to use the money，Peggy，ev'ry dollar of it，whether it's thirty er ？fty."Peggy sighed.
"I writ a pome once，"he said."Wonder ef they'd pay fer a pome？""What were it like ？"asked Skim curiously."It went someth'n'this way，"said Peggy：
"I sigh Ter fly Up high
In the sky.But my
Wings is shy，
So I mus'cry Good—bye Ter fly—
in'."
"Shoo ！"said Skim disdainfullya."Thet ain't no real pome，Peggy.""It makes rhymes，don't it ？All but the las'line.""Mebbe it does，"replied Skim，with assumption ofsuperior wisdom；"but it don't mean nuth'n'.""It would ef I got paid fer it，"observed Peggy.
Skim went home to his mother's tiny "Emporiumb"，took some note paper out of stock，opened a new bottle of ink and sat down at the sitting room table to write his story.The Widow Clark looked in and asked what he meant by "squanderin'pro？ts that way.""Shet up，mar.Gi'me elbow room，"said her dutiful sonc."I'm writin'a ？fty dollar story fer the Tribune.""Fifty dollars！""Thirty，anyhow；mebbe ？fty，"replied Skim."What's a good name fer a detective，mar？"The widow sat down and wiped her damp hands on her apron，looking upon her hopeful with an expression of mingled awe and pride.
"Kin ye do it，Skim？"she asked softly.
