which we had immersed ourselves. Kipling had recently burst meteor-like
on the world, and Barrie raised his head with a whimsical smile closely
chasing a tear. Thomas Hardy was in the saddle writing "Tess," and in
France Daudet was yet active though his prime was past. Guy de Maupassant
continued the production of his marvellous short stories. These were the
contemporary prose writers who engaged our attention. A little later we
hailed the appearance of Stanley J. Weyman with "A Gentleman of France,"
and the Conan Doyle of "The White Company" and "Micah Clarke" rather than
the creator of "Sherlock Holmes" commended our admiration. We were by no
means in accord on the younger authors. Diversity of opinion stimulates
critical discussion, however. I had not yet become reconciled to Kipling,
who provoked my resentment by certain coarse flings at the Irish, but "Bob"
hailed him with whole-hearted enthusiasm.

We were not the only members of the staff with literary aspirations.
Others, like the late Andrew E. Watrous, had achievements of no mean order
in prose and verse. Still others were sustaining the traditions of "The
Press" as a newspaper office which throughout its history had been a
stepping stone to magazine work and other forms of literary employment.
Richard Harding Davis was on the paper and "Bob" Stephens was one of the
two men most intimately in his confidence regarding his ambitions.

Finally Bob told me that "Dick" had taken him to his house and read to him
"A bully short story," adding, "It's a corker."

I inquired the nature of the story.

"Just about the 'Press' office," Bob replied,

Among other particulars I asked the title.