In no wise discountenanced by the matter-of-fact negative, Mr. Vanney,
still unsolicited, took a chair. "You would if you read the newspapers,"
he observed.

"I do."

"The New York papers," pursued the other, benignly explanatory. "It
doesn't matter. I came in to say that I shall make it my business to
report your energy and efficiency to your superiors."

"Thank you," said Banneker politely.

"And I can assure you that my commendation will carry weight. Weight,
sir."

The agent accepted this with a nod, obviously unimpressed. In fact, Mr.
Vanney suspected with annoyance, he was listening not so much to these
encouraging statements as to some unidentified noise outside. The agent
raised the window and addressed some one who had approached through the
steady drive of the rain. A gauntleted hand thrust through the window a
slip of paper which he took. As he moved, a ray of light from the lamp,
unblocked by his shoulder, fell upon the face of the person in the
darkness, illuminating it to the astounded eyes of Mr. Horace Vanney.

"Two of them are going home with me," said a voice. "Will you send these
wires to the addresses?"

"All right," replied Banneker, "and thank you. Good-night."

"Who was that?" barked Mr. Vanney, half rising.