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Evening Star, Issue 21935, 23 January 1935, Page 13

A tall, long-haired youth entered a musio publisher’s office carrying under his arm a small roll of paper. “ Good afternoon,” said tho publisher. “ Take a seat and tell me what I can do for you.” Tho youth looked nervous. “ Well—er—l have a song,” ho began, “ and I Avas Avondcring if you Avould publish it. Er—shall I sing it?” “ Yes, let’s hear it,” said the publisher; and the youth sat doAvn, and burst forth Avith his effusion. When the song Avas finished the publisher sat very still and said nothing. “ Well,” asked the young man impatiently, “ Avhat do I get for it?” “ Oh,” replied the publisher AA’ith an air of resignation, “ I’m a publisher, not a magistrate.”