one, till I was the only one left. And now I've gone. Mr. Petheram is
doing the whole paper now."

"How is it that he can't get anything better to do?" Roland said.

"He has done lots of better things. He used to be at Carmelite House,
but they thought he was too old."

Roland felt relieved. He conjured up a picture of a white-haired elder
with a fatherly manner.

"Oh, he's old, is he?"

"Twenty-four."

There was a brief silence. Something in the girl's expression stung
Roland. She wore a rapt look, as if she were dreaming of the absent
Petheram, confound him. He would show her that Petheram was not the
only man worth looking rapt about.

He rose.

"Would you mind giving me your address?" he said.

"Why?"

"In order," said Roland carefully, "that I may offer you your former
employment on 'Squibs.' I am going to buy it."

After all, your man of dash and enterprise, your Napoleon, does have