say. But with it you have no use for doubt--he's a diplomat all the
time."

The young man named Billy showed no irritation. With the composure which
he wore as a garment, he went on with his occupation.

For a time McCutcheon bore this aloofness, then he opened a new attack.
"What are you reading, my son? Makes a man sort of want his breakfast to
see that hungry look in your eyes. Share the provender, won't you?"

Billy looked up sedately.

"You fellows think my life's a game," he said. "But I tell you it takes
some doing to keep in touch with things."

Blake laughed chaffingly. "And the illustrated weekly papers are an
excellent substitute for Blue-books?"

Billy remained undisturbed. "It's all very well to scoff, but one may
get a side-light anywhere. In diplomacy nothing's too insignificant to
notice."

Again Blake laughed. "The principle on which it offers you a living?"

"Oh, come," said Billy, "that's rather rough! You know very well what I
mean. 'Tisn't always in the serious reports you get the color of a fact,
just as the gossip of a dinner-table is often more enlightening than a
cabinet council."

"Apropos?"