Mr. Hardwick was a determined-looking young man of about thirty-five,
with a bullet head and closely-cropped black hair. He looked like a
stubborn, strong-willed person, and Miss Baxter's summing up of him was
that he had not the appearance of one who could be coaxed or driven
into doing anything he did not wish to do. He held her card between his
fingers, and glanced from it to her, then down to the card again.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick," began Miss Baxter. "I don't know that
you have seen any of my work, but I have written a good deal for some of
the evening papers and for several of the magazines."

"Yes," said Hardwick, who was standing up preparatory to leaving his
office, and who had not asked the young woman to sit down; "your name is
familiar to me. You wrote, some months since, an account of a personal
visit to the German Emperor; I forget now where it appeared."

"Oh, yes," said Miss Baxter; "that was written for the _Summer
Magazine_, and was illustrated by photographs."

"It struck me," continued Hardwick, without looking at her, "that it was
an article written by a person who had never seen the German Emperor,
but who had collected and assimilated material from whatever source
presented itself."

The young woman, in nowise abashed, laughed; but still the editor did
not look up.

"Yes," she admitted, "that is precisely how it was written. I never have