mote and brilliant places, and addressed the dingy youth
briskly but not unkindly.

"Unfortunately, I have an engagement this evening and can give you very
little time. You will not mind if I am brief. Here, then, is the case. A
man employed in a minor position on a newspaper is notified that he is
to be discharged for incompetence. He replies that, so far from being
discharged, he will be promoted at the end of a month, and will
eventually be made editor of the paper. Undoubtedly this is a
magnificent boast, but to make it good means a complete transformation
in the character of this man's work--namely, from entire incompetence to
competence of an unusual sort, all within a month's time. You are the
man who has made this extraordinary boast. To clear the ground before I
begin to show you where your trouble is, please tell me how you propose
to make it good."

Not every man feeling inside as the little Doctor felt at that moment
would have answered with such admirable calm.

"I purpose," he corrected her, "to take the files of the _Post_ for the
past few years and read all of Colonel Cowles's amusing articles. He, I
am informed, is the editorial mogul and paragon. I purpose to study
those articles scientifically, to analyze them, to take them apart and
see exactly how they are put together. I purpose to destroy my own
style and build up another one precisely like the Colonel's--if
anything, a shade more so. In short I purpose to learn to write like an
ass, of asses, for asses."

"That is your whole programme?"

"It is more than enough, I think."

"Ah?" She paused a moment, looking at him with faint, distant amusement.
"Now, as my aunt's business woman, I, of course, take an interest in the
finances of her boarders. Therefore I had better begin at once looking
about for a new place for you after May 15th. What other kinds of work
do you think yourself qualified to do, besides editorial writing and the
preparation of thesauruses?"

He looked at her darkly. "You imagine that the _Post_ will discharge me
on May 15th?"

"There is nothing in the world that seems to me so certain."

"And why?"

"Why will the Post discharge you? For exactly the same reason it
promises to discharge you now. Incompetence."

"You agree with Colonel Cowles, then? You consider me incompetent to
write editorials for the _Post_?"

"Oh, totally. And it goes a great deal deeper than style, I assure you.
Mr. Queed, you're all wrong from t