did or not, I'd set out to puncture that
bubble of the Masters power and supremacy. It isn't right for any man to
have that power just through money. It isn't American."

"The old man would smash your paper in six months."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Nobody has ever taken a shot at him yet. He may be
more vulnerable than he looks.... Speaking of money, I suppose I'd
better take that apartment. God knows how I'll pay for it, especially if
I lose my job."

"If you lose your job I'll get you a better one on Wall Street
to-morrow."

"On the strength of Poultney Masters, Jr., shaking hands with me, I
suppose."

"Practically. It may not get into your newspapers, but the Street will
know all about it to-morrow."

"It's a queer city. And it's a queer way to get on in it, by being quick
on the trigger. Well, I'm off for the theater."

Between acts, Banneker, walking out to get air, was conscious of being
the object of comment and demonstration. He heard his name spoken in
half whispers; saw nods and jerks of the head; was an involuntary
eavesdropper upon a heated discussion; "That's the man."--"No; it ain't.
The paper says he's a big feller."--"This guy ain't a reporter. Pipe his
clothes."--"Well, he's big if you size him right. Look at his
shoulders."--"I'll betcha ten he ain't the man." And an apologetic young
fellow ran after him to ask if he was not, in truth, Mr. Banneker of The
Ledger. Being no more than human, he experienced a feeling of mild
excitation over all this. But no sooner had the curtain risen on the
second act than he quite forgot himself and his notoriety in the fresh
charm of the comedy, and the delicious simplicity of Betty Raleigh as
the heroine. That the piece was destined to success was plain, even so
early. As the curtain fell again, and the star appeared, dragging after
her a long, gaunt, exhausted, alarmed man in horn-rimmed spectacles, who
had been lurking in a corner suffering from incipient nervous breakdown
and illusions of catastrophe, he being the author, the body of the house
rose and shouted. A hand fell on Banneker's shoulder.

"Come behind at the finish?" said a voice.

Turning, Banneker met the cynical and near-sighted eyes of Gurney, The
Ledger's dramatic critic, with whom he had merely a nodding
acquaintance, as Gurney seldom visited the office except at off-hours.

"Yes; I'd like to," he answered.

"Little Betty spotted you and has been demanding that the management
bring you back f