new tone of interest. "Run out
and see. It may be some one who wants"--

"An article," said Milton cheerfully. "By Jove! he IS coming here."

The stranger was indeed approaching the little cottage, and with
apparently some confidence. He was a well-dressed, well-made man, whose
age looked uncertain from the contrast between his heavy brown moustache
and his hair, that, curling under the brim of his hat, was almost white
in color. The young man started, and said, hurriedly: "I really believe
it is Fletcher,--they say his hair turned white from the Panama fever."

It was indeed Mr. Fletcher who entered and introduced himself,--a gentle
reserved man, with something of that colorlessness of premature age
in his speech which was observable in his hair. He had heard of Mr.
Harcourt from a friend who had recommended him highly. As Mr. Harcourt
had probably been told, he, the speaker, was about to embark some
capital in a first-class newspaper in San Francisco, and should select
the staff himself. He wanted to secure only first-rate talent,--but
above all, youthfulness, directness, and originality. The "Clarion," for
that was to be its name, was to have nothing "old fogy" about it. No. It
was distinctly to be the organ of Young California! This and much more
from the grave lips of the elderly young man, whose speech seemed to be
divided between the pretty, but equally faded, young wife, and the one
personification of invincible youth present,--her husband.

"But I fear I have interrupted your household duties," he said
pleasantly. "You were preparing dinner. Pray go on. And let me help
you,--I'm not a bad cook,--and you can give me my reward by letting me
share it with you, for the climb up here has sharpened my appetite. We
can talk as we go on."

It was in vain to protest; there was something paternal as well as
practical in the camaraderie of this actual capitalist and possible
Maecenas and patron as he quietly hung up his hat and overcoat, and
helped to set the table with a practiced hand. Nor, as he suggested, did
the conversation falter, and before they had taken their seats at the
frugal board he had already engaged John Milton Harcourt as assistant
editor of the "Clarion" at a salary that seemed princely to this son
of a millionaire! The young wife meantime had taken active part in the
discussion; whether it was vaguely understood that the possession of
poetical and imaginative faculties precluded any capacity for