inclined tube.

"I understand," said the editor, "that you are 216--am I right?"

"That," said the reporter, catching his breath and adjusting his
clothing, both somewhat disordered by the celerity of his flight through
the tube,--"that is my number."

"Information has reached us," continued the editor, "that the
Superintendent of the Sorrel Hill cemetery--one Inhumio, whose very name
suggests inhumanity--is guilty of the grossest outrages in the
administration of the great trust confided to his hands by the sovereign
people."

"The cemetery is private property," faintly suggested 216.

"It is alleged," continued the great man, disdaining to notice the
interruption, "that in violation of popular rights he refuses to permit
his accounts to be inspected by representatives of the press."

"Under the law, you know, he is responsible to the directors of the
cemetery company," the reporter ventured to interject.

"They say," pursued the editor, heedless, "that the inmates are in many
cases badly lodged and insufficiently clad, and that in consequence they
are usually cold. It is asserted that they are never fed--except to the
worms. Statements have been made to the effect that males and females
are permitted to occupy the same quarters, to the incalculable detriment
of public morality. Many clandestine villainies are alleged of this
fiend in human shape, and it is desirable that his underground methods