his points, to show what he was
after--and, driving fear away from him, he kept his own eyes steadily
fixed on those penetrating organs which confronted him. And once, twice,
he saw or thought he saw a light gleam of appreciation in those organs;
once, he believed, the big head nodded as if in agreement. Anyhow, at
the end of a quarter of an hour (unheard-of length for an interview with
Markledew!) Triffitt had neither been turned out nor summarily silenced;
instead, he had come to what he felt to be a good ending of his pleas
and his arguments, and the great man was showing signs of speech.

"Now, attend!" said Markledew, impressively. "You'll go on with this.
You'll follow it up on the lines you suggest. But you'll print nothing
except under my personal supervision. Make certain of your facts.
Facts!--understand! Wait."

He pulled a couple of slips of paper towards him, scribbled a line or
two on each, handed them to Triffitt, and nodded at the door.

"That'll do," he said. "When you want me, let me know. And mind--you've
got a fine chance, young man."

Triffitt could have fallen on the carpet and kissed Markledew's large
boots. But knowing Markledew, he expressed his gratitude in two words
and a bow, and sped out of the room. Once outside, he hastened to send
the all-powerful notes. They were short and sharp, like Markledew's
manner, but to Triffitt of an inexpressible sweetness, and he walked on
air as he went off to other regions to present them.

The news editor, who was by nature irascible and whom much daily worry
had rendered more so, glared angrily as Triffitt marched up to his
table. He pointed to a slip of proof which lay, damp and sticky, close
by.

"You've given too much space to that Herapath funeral," he growled.
"Take it away and cut it down to three-quarters."

Triffitt made no verbal answer. He flung Markledew's half-sheet of
notepaper before the news editor, and the news editor, seeing the great
man's sprawling caligraphy, read, wonderingly:--

"Mr. Triffitt is released from ordinary duties to
pursue others under my personal supervision.
J. M."

The news editor stared at Triffitt as if that young gentleman had
suddenly become an archangel.

"What's this mean?" he demanded.

"Obvious--and sufficient," retorted Triffitt. And he turned, hands in
pockets, and strolled out, leaving the proof lying unheeded. That was
the first time