the grooves of civilian life in a
bustling, thriving city. Everything seemed tame and insignificant
after what he had experienced overseas. Time instead of lessening had
only increased this feeling, until Reynolds believed that he could no
longer endure the prosaic life of the city. Such was the state of his
mind when he beheld the face across the street, which in some
mysterious manner gave him a sudden impulse and a new outlook upon the
world. After a short quick walk, he turned into a side street and
stopped at length before a building from which extended a large
electric sign, bearing the words _Telegram_ and _Evening News_. He
entered, and at once made his way through several rooms until he
reached the editorial office at the back of the building. The door was
open, and seated at the desk was an elderly man, busily writing. He
looked up as Reynolds appeared, and a smile illumined his face.

"You are back early, Tom. Found something special?"

"Yes," Reynolds replied as he sat down upon the only vacant chair the
office contained. "But nothing for publication."

The editor pushed back his papers, swung himself around in his chair
and faced the visitor.

"What is it, Tom?" he asked. "You look more animated than I have seen
you for many a day. What has come over you? What is the special
something you have found?"

"Myself."

"Yourself!"

"That's just it. I'm through with this job."

The editor eyed the young man curiously yet sympathetically. He was to
him as a son, and he had done everything in his power to help him since
his return from the war. But he was well aware that Reynolds was not
happy, and that newspaper work was proving most uncongenial.

"Where are you going, Tom, and what are you going to do?" he presently
asked.

"I have not the slightest idea, sir. But I must get away from this
hum-drum existence. It is killing me by inches. I need adventure,
life in the open, where a man can breathe freely and do as he likes."

"Haven't you done about as you like, Tom, since you came home? I
promised your father on his death-bed that I would look after you, and
I have tried to do so in every possible way. I sincerely hoped that
your present work would suit you better than in an office. You are
free to roam where you will, and whatever adventure has taken place in
this city during the past six months you were in the midst of it, and
wrote excellent reports, too."

"I know that, sir,