painted face, justly open to interrogation?--how there stands a summit
from which a man shall see yet more sharply than his most admired
authors, above referred to? Hence, look down. And behold, against the
sunny day two clues now visible upon the bosom of the Gulf, to wit: the
dark-eyed lad so oddly taking hired-carriage exercise up and down
Washington Street, between eight-thirty and ten-thirty A.M.; and yon
half-column of winged words in "The People's Forum" column of this
morning's "Post," under the caption (supplied by the editor): "Severe
Arraignment of Local Factory Conditions."

The Dabney House felt the pluckings first. They were Nobodies there; and
by that token they were early risers.

* * * * *

She was fluttered to-day, was Mrs. Garland, by the nocturnal
reappearance of her errant husband, Mister, as simply called: but she
did not forget the iron rule. The "Post" was under the door by seven
o'clock. Dr. Vivian perused by seven-fifteen. He perused with a peculiar
and paternal gusto: for doctoring was not his meat and drink, and he had
written these winged words himself. But of the vehicular lad he heard
nothing till some hours later, when Labor Commissioner O'Neill,
skirting the old park from Centre Street, where he had been for cigars,
dropped in on the way back to his office.

Even here, the words came first. O'Neill had a "Post" in his hand.

It was then nearing eleven o'clock. The doctor sat at a tall old
"secretary" between his windows, swinging round with expectancy as his
friend entered. There were still people of a sort, human beings in a