hat's what I want. That's where I hope we shall be really
successful. There's no good in having a brilliant editorial staff if
one doesn't get suggestions from them, and act on 'em.'

I drew some memoranda from my pocket. But the editor swept on.

'I'm a thorough believer in suggestions. The moment I have got things
running a little more smoothly, I shall have a round table conference
every afternoon to deal with suggestions for the day. Meantime, I'll
tell my secretary to have all letters for publication passed straight
on to you, so that you can sift and prepare a correspondence feature
every day. They may want helping out a bit occasionally, of course. A
friendly lead, you know, from "An Old Reader," or "Paterfamilias," to
keep 'em to their muttons. You'll see.'

'And where can I work?' I asked.

'Ah, to be sure. Yes. You want a room. Come with me now. I'll
introduce you to Hutchens, the manager, and he'll fix you up.'

Mr. Hutchens proved to be a miracle of correctness. I never knew much
of Lombard Street, Cornhill, Threadneedle Street, and their purlieus;
but I felt instinctively that Mr. Hutchens, in his dress, tone, and
general deportment, had attained as closely as mortal might to the
highest city standards of what a leading city man should be. I never
saw a speck of dust on his immaculately shining boots or hat. His
manner would have been almost priceless, I should suppose, in the
board room of a bank. His close-clipped whiskers--resembling some
costly fur--his large, perfectly white hands and frozen facial
expression were alike eloquent of massive dividends, of balance sheets
of sacred propriety, of gravely cordial votes of thanks to noble
chairmen, of gilt-edged security and success.

There was something, too, of the headmaster in the way in which he
shook hands with me, and in the automatic geniality of the smile with
which he favoured Arncliffe. (In this connection, of course, Arncliffe
was a parent, and I a future incumbent of the swishing block.)

'Another star in our costly galaxy,' he said; and, having reduced me
by one glance to the proportions of a performing flea, rather poorly
trained, he gave his attention indulgently to the editor.

'With regard to that question of the extra twenty minutes for the last
forme,' he began.

'Yes, I know,' said Arncliffe. 'Drop in and see me about it later,
will you?' (I marvelled at his temerity. As soon would I have thought
of inviting the Lord Mayor to fo