Military Political Economist._

The stars in their courses fought for Mr. Queed in those days. Somebody
had to fight for him, it seemed, since he was so little equipped to
fight for himself, and the stars kindly undertook the assignment. Not
merely had he attracted the militant services of the bright little
celestial body whose earthly agent was Miss Charlotte Lee Weyland; but
this little body chanced to be one of a system or galaxy, associated
with and exercising a certain power, akin to gravitation, over that
strong and steady planet known among men as Charles Gardiner West. And
the very next day, the back of the morning's mail being broken, the
little star used some of its power to draw the great planet to the
telephone, while feeling, in a most unstellar way, that it was a
decidedly cheeky thing to do. However, nothing could have exceeded the
charming radiance of Planet West, and it was he himself who introduced
the topic of Mr. Queed, by inquiring, in mundane language, whether or
not he had been fired.

"No!" laughed the star. "Instead of firing him, I'm now bent on _hiring_
him. Oh, you'd better not laugh! It's to you I want to hire him!"

But at that the shining Planet laughed the more.

"What have I done to be worthy of this distinction? Also, what can I do
with him? To paraphrase his own inimitable remark about your dog, what
is the object of a man like that? What is he for?"

Sharlee dilated on the renown of Mr. Queed as a writer upon abstruse
themes. Mr. West was not merely agreeable; he was interested. It seemed
that at the very last meeting of the _Post_ directors--to which body Mr.
West had been elected at the stockholders' meeting last June--it had
been decided that Colonel Cowles should have a little help in the
editorial department. The work was growing; the Colonel was ageing. The
point had been to find the help. Who knew but what this little highbrow
was the very man they were looking for?

"I'll call on him--at your aunt's, shall I?--to-day if I can. Why, not a
bit of it! The thanks are quite the other way. He may turn out another
Charles A. Dana, cleverly disguised. When are you going to have another
half-holiday up there?"

Sharlee left the telephone thinking that Mr. West was quite the nicest
man she knew. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred, in his position, would
have said, "Send him to see me." Mr. West had said, "I'll call on him at
your aunt's," and had absolutely refused to pose as t