it.

"And what is more," he continued, "the _Star_ is about to part company
with Ed Smith."

Ed bounced out of his chair.

"What do you mean?" he cried--and there was a sure note of fear in his
voice that was not lost upon the Captain.

"You're discharged, sir!"

Ed caught his breath.

"You can't do it!" he cried. "You can't do it: you don't own the paper!
I've got a contract----"

The old Captain drew himself to his full height and pointed with one
long arm at the door:

"_Go!_" said he.

It was grand.

He then turned to Fergus. "Fergus call up my niece on the telephone. I
wish to speak to her."

He walked up the length of the room and back again, his hands clasped
behind him under his coat tails. He did not once look at Ed.

"Is this Anthy?" he asked, when Fergus handed him the telephone. "Anthy,
I have just discharged Ed Smith. He will no longer cumber this office."

He paused.

"No, I said I have just discharged him. He was only small potatoes,
anyway, and few in the hill."

He put down the telephone: Ed made as if to speak, but the old Captain
waved him aside.

"Fergus," he said, "I have an editorial ready for this week's _Star_.
Now let's get down to business."

Having delivered himself, he was light, he was gay.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIII

ANTHY TAKES COMMAND

Anthy was always late in reaching the office, if she came at all, on
Monday mornings. It was one of the days when old Mrs. Parker came to
help her, and it was necessary that the week be properly started in the
household of the Doanes.

It is said of Goethe that he was prouder of his knowledge of the science
of optics--which was mostly wrong--than he was of his poetry. Genius is
often like that. It was so in the case of old Mrs. Parker, who
considered herself incomparable as a cook (and once--this is town
report--baked her spectacles in a custard pie), and held lightly her
genius as a journalist. On any bright morning she could go out on her
stoop, turn once or twice around, sniff the breezes, and tell you in
voluminous language what her neighbours were going to have for dinner,
with interesting digressions upon the character, social standing, and
economic condition of each of them.

Though she often tried Anthy's orderly soul, she was as much of a
feature of the household on certain days every week as the what-not in
the corner of the parlour. She had been coming almost as long as Anthy
could remember. For years