ith a
barmaid."

I began to respect the young man's wisdom.

"So you believe it to be a woman?"

"Yes. The wind blows from one point at a time. There are four points
to the vane of destiny; there is ambition for glory, ambition for
power, ambition for wealth, and ambition for love. In Hillars's case,
since the wind does not blow from the first three, it must necessarily
blow from the fourth. You know him better than I do; so you must
certainly know that Hillars is not a man to drink because glory or
power or wealth refused to visit him."

"You are a very discerning young man," said I, whereat he laughed.
"Did he get my cable?"

"No. I thought that it was some order from headquarters and opened it
myself. I put it in his desk. I spoke to him, but he was too drunk to
pay any heed to what I said. Well, I must be going. I am getting out
a symposium of editorials from the morning papers on the possibility of
a Franco-Russian alliance. It must be at the cable office in half an
hour. If you are going to wait, you'll find the Berlin and Paris files
in the next room. I'll see you later," and he departed.

It was five of the clock. The Strand was choked. Here and there I saw
the color of martial attire. Save for this, and that the buildings
were low and solid, and that most of the people walked slower, I might
have been looking down upon Broadway for all the change of place I saw.
There is not much difference between New York and London, except in the
matter of locomotion. The American gets around with more rapidity than
does his English cousin, but in the long run he accomplishes no more.
It is only when one steps onto the Continent that the real difference
in the human races is discerned. Strange as this may seem, it is not
distinguishable in a cosmopolitan city. My eyes were greeted with the
same huge wearisome signs of the merchants; the same sad-eyed "sandwich
men;" the same newsboys yelling and scampering back and forth; the same
rumble of the omnibuses, the roar of the drays, and the rattle of the
cabs. I was not much interested in all I saw. Suddenly my roving eyes
rested upon a familiar face. It was Hillars, and he was pushing
rapidly across the street. Any one would have instantly marked him for
an American by the nervous stride, the impatience at being obstructed.
I went into the fire-room, intending to give him a little surprise. I
did not have long to wait. The door to the main office o