which has no equal in America. He will ferret out a case that he once
starts on with an unerringness that would charm you. Yes, sir, I got him
his present situation on this paper, and I can tell you it was a good
one."

"He must have been a warm friend of yours?" said Brenton, indifferently,
as if he did not take much interest in the eulogy.

"Quite the contrary," said Speed. "He was a warm enemy, made it mighty
warm for _me_ sometimes. He was on an opposition paper, but I tell you,
although I was no chicken in newspaper business, that man would scoop
the daylight out of me any time he tried. So, to get rid of opposition,
I got the managing editor to appoint him to a place on our paper; and
I tell you, he has never regretted it. Yes, sir, there sits George
Stratton, a man who knows his business. Now," he said, "let us
concentrate our attention on him. First let us see whether, by putting
our whole minds to it, we can make any impression on _his_ mind
whatever. You see how busily he is engaged. He is thoroughly absorbed in
his work. That is George all over. Whatever his assignment is, George
throws himself right into it, and thinks of nothing else until it is
finished. _Now_ then."

In that dingy, well-lighted room George Stratton sat busily pencilling
out the lines that were to appear in next morning's paper. He was
evidently very much engrossed in his task, as Speed had said. If he
had looked about him, which he did not, he would have said that he was
entirely alone. All at once his attention seemed to waver, and he passed
his hand over his brow, while perplexity came into his face. Then he
noticed that his pipe was out, and, knocking the ashes from it by
rapping the bowl on the side of the table, he filled it with an