interest of the layman in anyone who writes words that are printed. We
seldom feel interested in the personality of the man who made our watch,
but the fellow who wrote the report of the tea-meeting we attended last
week--ah, there's something to stir the blood!

Now that they had met, these two, Henry was throbbing with excitement to
hear what his new friend had to tell him of life and its wonders. Nor
was Trevor loth to unclench his soul to the youth.

"By Jove, London's the place," he observed to Henry as he dug his teeth
into a juicy tart--one of many received that day in Henry's weekly
hamper from home. "London's the place! Just fancy, I saw the huge
building of the _Morning Sunburst_, Johnnies at the door in livery,
hundreds of people running out and in; and the chap that edits that
paper used to be a fifteen-bob-a-week reporter on that rag the
_Stratford Times_, which isn't a patch on the _Guardian_."

"He must be very clever."

"Clever! Bless you, they reckoned him mighty small beer in Stratford,"
pursued the lively Trevor, helping himself to a third tart from Henry's
store. "Then there's Wilkins of the _Pictorial Globe_, a glorious
crib--fifteen hundred a year, I'll bet. He used to run that rocky little
rag-bag the _Arden Advertiser_. You should see his office in the Strand.
By gum--a palace, my boy, a palace!"

"But perhaps he knows all about pictures."

"Pictures! He doesn't know a wall-poster from a Joshua Reynolds!"

"Then how do they get these grand situations?"

"How do they get 'em! Luck, my boy. But, I say, your mater knows how to
make ripping good fruit-cakes."

"I'm glad you like them," said Henry, but his thoughts were far away,
where Luck the Goddess reigned. "And do you intend to go to London some
day--to stay, I mean?"

"As likely as not. My time will come, ha, ha! as the heavy villain hath
it. Everybody gets his chance, don't you know. For all that, there's
many a jolly good journalist never gets a show in Fleet Street. But
what's the row?" he exclaimed abruptly, as the noise of hurrying feet
and the sound of a policeman's whistle rang out in the evening quiet.

Stepping to the window, he saw the hand-pump and hose being wheeled
along the street from the police station across the way, and a crowd of
youngsters running after it.

"A fire!" he exclaimed. "I must look slippy, by Jingo! Come along with
me. There's ten bob of lineage in this if I'm first on the spot, and
it's a decent bl