use anybody out of repair," he added, grimly.

"I know," Ruth answered, nodding.

"Of course the office isn't a sanitarium, though they need that
kind of an annex; nor yet a literary kindergarten, which I've
known it to be taken for, but--well, I won't tell you my
troubles. The oculist said I must go to the country for six
months, stay outdoors, and neither read nor write. I went to see
Carlton, and he promised me a berth in the Fall--they're going to
have a morning edition, too, you know."

Miss Thorne did not know, but she was much interested.

"Carlton advised me to come up here," resumed Winfield. "He said
you were here, and that you were going back in the Fall. I'm
sorry I've lost his letter."

"What was in it?" inquired Ruth, with a touch of sarcasm. "You
read it, didn't you?"

"Of course I read it--that is, I tried to. The thing looked like
a prescription, but, as nearly as I could make it out, it was
principally a description of the desolation in the office since
you left it. At the end there was a line or two commending me to
your tender mercies, and here I am."

"Commending yourself."

"Now what in the dickens have I done?" thought Winfield. "That's