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Show a mail-box. Stealthily he looks to the right, to the left, behind. Taking Tak-ing a sharp breath of resolution, he suddenly drops the letter in the box, and then saunters away, his trembling tremb-ling lips whistling as he tries to register re-gister unconcern, like Charlie Chaplin Chap-lin passing a policeman. It is almost impossible for an editor edi-tor to become angry at the writer of an anonymous letter. Uusually the editor smiles, and sometimes he may shake his head sadly at the perverted mental processess of the writer. What, precisely, are those processes? process-es? What satisfaction does he get from dispatching his mysterious epistle ? On this point George Jean Nathan made a brief and interesting comment com-ment not long ago: "I often wonder what satisfaction is derived by the writer of anonymous, anony-mous, insulting letter. However, thin-skinned a man may be, he can't very well be insulted by a person whom he does not. know and has never nev-er heard of, anil of whose existence name, and position he is completely unaware. However tender one's hide, one can't conceivably be bothered both-ered very much by the nose-fingerings of an indiscernible ghost." Chicago Journal of Commerce. , AHA! THE ANONYMOUS LETTER: How cheering is the frequent visit of the anonymous letter to the editorial edi-torial ollice! At his littered desk sits the ditor, glumly gazing out of the window and wishing he could get away for a week of duck shooting. And presently he sighs and returns to his work, and begins to go through his mail, and so comes upon his old friend the anonymous letter. Usually it spilt tors. There is indignation in-dignation in it, and denunciation, and damnation. And there is stealth. One gels a picture of the writer moving mov-ing softly in (he shadows of a dark street at midnight with his tremendously tremend-ously important letter under his long, mysl eiious coast. He reaches |