his course of devastation.

Presently he met an editor, No. 7 it was, who was bringing him an
agreement to sign. He snatched it from him and glanced through it.

"What do you mean by bringing me a thing like this?" he said: "It's
all wrong."

"It is exactly as you dictated to me yesterday, Sir," said the editor
indignantly.

"What, do you mean to contradict me?" roared Meeson. "Look here No. 7,
you and I had better part. Now, no words: your salary will be paid to
you till the end of the month, and if you would like to bring an
action for wrongful dismissal, why, I'm your man. Good morning, No. 7;
good morning."

Next he crossed a courtyard where, by slipping stealthily around the
corner, he came upon a jolly little errand boy, who was enjoying a
solitary game of marbles.

_Whack_ came his cane across the seat of that errand boy's trousers,
and in another minute he had followed the editor and the
sandwich-devouring clerk.

And so the merry game went on for half an hour or more, till at last Mr.
Meeson was fain to cease his troubling, being too exhausted to continue
his destroying course. But next morning there was promotion going on in
the great publishing house; eleven vacancies had to be filled.