that, at the moment, she could think of no
such person. But her mind fastened at once on the vulgar, hopeful fact
that the unsocial sociolologist wanted a job.

"That's unfortunate," said Mr. Queed. "I suppose I must accept a little
regular, very remunerative work--to settle this board question once and
for all. An hour or two a day, at most. However, it is not easy to lay
one's hand on such work in a strange city."

"Perhaps," said Miss Weyland slowly, "I can help you."

"I'm sure I hope so," said he with another flying glance at his watch.
"That is what I have been approaching for seven minutes."

"Don't you always find it an unnecessary waste of time not to be
direct?"

He sat, slightly frowning, impatiently fingering the pages of his book.
The hit bounded off him like a rubber ball thrown against the Great Wall
of China.

"Well?" he demanded. "What have you to propose?"

The agent sat down in a chair across the table, William Klinker's chair,
and rested her chin upon her shapely little hand. The other shapely
little hand toyed with the crisp twenty dollar bill, employing it to
trace geometric designs upon the colored table-cloth. Mr. Queed had
occasion to consult his watch again before she raised her head.

"I propose," she said, "that you apply for some special editorial work
on the _Post_."

"The _Post_? The _Post_? The morning newspaper here?"

"One of them."

He laughed, actually laughed. It was a curious, slow laugh, betraying
that the muscles which accomplished it were flabby for want of exercise.

"And who writes the editorials on the _Post_ now?"

"A gentleman named Colonel Cowles--"

"Ah! His articles on taxation read as if they might have been written by
a military man. I happened to read one the day before yesterday. It was
most amusing--"

"Excuse me. Colonel Cowles is a friend of mine--"

"What has that got to do with his political economy? If he is your
friend, then I should say that you have a most amusing friend."

Sharlee rose, decidedly irritated. "Well--that is my suggestion. I
believe you will find it worth thinking over, Good-night."

"The _Post_ pays its contributors well, I suppose?"

"That you would have to take up with its owners."

"Clearly the paper needs the services of an expert--though, of course, I
could not give it much time, only enough to pay for my keep. The
suggestion is not a bad one--not at all. As to applying, as you call it,
is this amiable Colonel Cow