Edward was now without editorial cares; but he had already, even before disposing of the magazine, embarked on another line of endeavor.  In sending to a number of newspapers the advance sheets of a particularly striking “feature” in one of his numbers of The Brooklyn Magazine, it occurred to him that he was furnishing a good deal of valuable material to these papers without cost.  It is true his magazine was receiving the advertising value of editorial comment; but he wondered whether the newspapers would not be willing to pay for the privilege of simultaneous publication.  An inquiry or two proved that they would.  Thus Edward stumbled upon the “syndicate” plan of furnishing the same article to a group of newspapers, one in each city, for simultaneous publication.  He looked over the ground, and found that while his idea was not a new one, since two “syndicate” agencies already existed, the field was by no means fully covered, and that the success of a third agency would depend entirely upon its ability to furnish the newspapers with material equally good or better than they received from the others.  After following the material furnished by these agencies for two or three weeks, Edward decided that there was plenty of room for his new ideas.

He discussed the matter with his former magazine partner, Colver, and suggested that if they could induce Mr. Beecher to write a weekly comment on current events for the newspapers it would make an auspicious beginning.  They decided to talk it over with the famous preacher.  For to be a “Plymouth boy”—­that is, to go to the Plymouth Church Sunday-school and to attend church there—­was to know personally and become devoted to Henry Ward Beecher.  And the two were synonymous.  There was no distance between Mr. Beecher and his “Plymouth boys.”  Each understood the other.  The tie was that of absolute comradeship.

“I don’t believe in it, boys,” said Mr. Beecher when Edward and his friend broached the syndicate letter to him.  “No one yet ever made a cent out of my supposed literary work.”

All the more reason, was the argument, why some one should.

Mr. Beecher smiled!  How well he knew the youthful enthusiasm that rushes in, etc.

“Well, all right!  I like your pluck,” he finally said.  “I’ll help you if I can.”

The young editors agreed to pay Mr. Beecher a weekly sum of two hundred and fifty dollars—­which he knew was considerable for them.

When the first article had been written they took him their first check.  He looked at it quizzically, and then at the boys.  Then he said simply:  “Thank you.”  He took a pin and pinned the check to his desk.  There it remained, much to their curiosity.

The following week he had written the second article and the boys gave him another check.  He pinned that up over the other.  “I like to look at them,” was his only explanation, as he saw Edward’s inquiring glance one morning.