hat, gloves, and stick, and called a cab. "Take
me to 'The Firefly' office," he said.

"Beg pawdon, sir, but where's that?" asked the driver.

"It's up to you to find out."

"Then w'at is it, guv'nor? I've heerd of the 'Orse an' 'Ound, the
Chicken's Friend, the Cat, an' the Bee; but the Firefly leaves me
thinkin'. Is it a noospaper?"

"Something of the sort."

"All right, sir. Jump in. We'll soon be on its track."

The hansom scampered off to Fleet-st. As the result of inquiries
Spencer was deposited at the entrance to a dingy court, the depths
of which, he was assured, were illumined by "The Firefly." There is
nothing that so mystifies the citizen of the New World as the
hole-and-corner aspect of some of the business establishments of
London. He soon learns, however, to differentiate between the spidery
dens where money is amassed and the soot laden tenements in which the
struggle for existence is keen. A comprehensive glance at the exterior
of the premises occupied by "The Firefly" at once explained to Spencer
why the cabman did not know its whereabouts. Three small rooms
sufficed for its literary and commercial staff, and "To let" notices
stared from several windows in the same building.

"Appearances are deceptive ever," murmured he, as he scanned the
legends on three doors in a narrow lobby; "but I think I'm beginning
to catch on to the limited extent of Miss Helen's earnings from her
scientific paragraphs."

He knocked at each door; but received no answer. Then, having sharp
ears, he tried the handle of one marked "Private." It yielded, and he
entered, to be accosted angrily by a pallid, elderly, bewhiskered man,
standing in front of a much littered table.

"Confound it, sir!" came the growl, "don't you know it is Saturday
afternoon? And what do you mean by coming in unannounced?"

"Guess you're the editor?" said Spencer.

"What if I am?"

"I've just happened along to have a few quiet words with you. If
there's no callers Saturdays, why, that's exactly what I want, and
I came right in because you didn't answer my knock."

"I tell you I'm not supposed to be here."

"Then you shouldn't draw corks while anybody is damaging the paint
outside."

Spencer smiled so agreeably that the editor of "The Firefly" softened.
At first, he had taken his visitor for an unpaid contributor; but the
American accent banished this phantom of the imagination. He continued
to pour into a tumbler the contents of a bottl