ou had met me accidentally, would you
have thought so?"

"Surely; my eyes are always open to the truth."

"If I could meet such a man as you are I could love him--'with a
dreaminess of eye not characteristic of this strong, pragmatic
family.'"

She broke away from him, but he caught her. "If I were not related to
you," he said, "I would be tempted to kiss you."

"Oh, you'd be _tempted_ to kiss me, would you? If you were not related
to me I wouldn't let you, but as it is--there!"

His blood tingled. Her hair was falling about her shoulders. For a
moment it was a strife for him to believe that she was his sister.

"Beautiful," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "Somebody
said that the glory of a woman is her hair; and it is true. It is a
glory that always catches me."

"Does it? Well, I must put up my glory before papa comes. Oh, you are
such a romp; but I was just a little afraid of you at first, you were
so sedate and dreamy of eye."

She ran away from him, and looking back with mischief in her eyes, she
hummed a schottish, and keeping time to it, danced up the stairway.

When Witherspoon came to dinner he said that he had consulted Brooks
and that the resourceful manager knew of a possible opening.

The owner of the _Star_, a politician who had been foolish enough to
suppose that with the control of an editorial page he could illumine
his virtues and throw darkness over his faults, was willing to part
with his experiment. "I think that we can get it at a very reasonable
figure," said Witherspoon. And after a moment's silence he added:
"Brooks can pull you a good many advertisements in a quiet way, and
possibly the thing may be made to turn oat all right. But I tell you
again that I am very much disappointed. Your place is with me--but we
won't talk about it. How came you to take up that line of work?"

"I began by selling newspapers."

Mrs. Witherspoon sighed, and the merchant asked: "And did Andrew urge
it?"

"Oh, no. In fact I was a reporter before he knew anything about it."

Witherspoon grunted. "I should have thought," said he, "that your
uncle would have looked after you with more care. Did you receive a
regular course of training?" Henry looked at him. "At school, I mean."

"Yes, in an elementary way. Afterward I studied in the public
library."

"A good school, but not cohesive," Witherspoon replied. "A thousand
scraps of knowledge don't make an education."

"Father, you remembe