a picture by its area
of canvas--the bigger the better."

"Scoundrels!" he suddenly rapped out, crumpling the papers in his
disgust.

"I beg your pardon?" said the Boss, gently, peering over the
chrysanthemums.

"I beg yours. These--these reporters have misrepresented me."

"Dear me! Do you mind that? You shouldn't. One has to be Jekyll or
Hyde. There's no happy medium. But luckily the public takes care of
that. Trust the public to guess, Mr. Shelby, that you're neither an
art critic nor an ass. And don't be rough on the reporters," he added,
getting up. "They work hard for a living, poor boys. Caricature is
the press's peculiar tribute to the significant."

Outside the door of the private office Shelby's face suddenly froze.
Several newspaper men had gathered to question the Boss, and among them
the victim recognized one of his detractors. The impulse was strong to
snub, but taught by the leader's example, he smiled instead and dropped
a friendly nod.

"Seeking whom you may devour, gentlemen?" inquired the Boss. "So am I.
It's past my lunch hour, you know."

With a dozen words he outlined the matter over which they were
exercised, called one and another by name, shunted an inconvenient
question, told a little story, and had slipped out of the building with
Shelby before the pupil realized that the interview had fairly begun.

"I like the boys," he declared. "They slate me, but we're good
friends."

The incident impressed Shelby only less than the desk telephone, and
the walk to luncheon intensified his respect. The Boss explained that
he ate at a mid-air club rather remote from his place of business
because it compelled a chestful of fresh air; and Shelby underwent the
unique experience of promenading busiest Broadway with a man to whom
people bowed on every hand. The Boss took it all as equably as the
country lawyer might his morning salutations between his office and the
Tuscarora House; but to Shelby, from Trinity to St. Paul's, and from
the City Hall to the granite sky-scraper, whose elevator shot them
story after story to the roof, was a splendid triumphal progress. It
was a democratic people's homage to power.

The big green and white club dining room in the sky took up the
wondrous tale. Greetings everywhere, and jovial beckonings to join
this group and that. At the great man's instance, however, they were
placed at a table for two, whose outlook seemed to the stranger to
embrace