"That's almost as important as the Wickham _Union_, I fancy. It sounds
as if it might have the same wide influence."

"Oh, much more, much more," returned Eugene quietly. "The Alexandria
_Appeal_ had the largest exclusively country circulation of any county
south of the Sangamon."

"I see! I see!" replied Summerfield good-humoredly. "It's all day with
the Wickham _Union_. Well, how was it you came to change your mind?"

"Well, I got a few years older for one thing," said Eugene. "And then I
decided that I was cut out to be the greatest living artist, and then I
came to New York, and in the excitement I almost lost the idea."

"I see."

"But I have it again, thank heaven, tied up back of the house, and here
I am."

"Well, Witla, to tell you the truth you don't look like a real live,
every day, sure-enough art director, but you might make good. You're not
quite art-y enough according to the standards that prevail around this
office. Still I might be willing to take one gosh-awful chance. I
suppose if I do I'll get stung as usual, but I've been stung so often
that I ought to be used to it by now. I feel sort of spotted at times
from the hornets I've hired in the past. But, be that as it may, what do
you think you could do with a real live art directorship if you had it?"

Eugene mused. This persiflage entertained him. He thought Summerfield
would hire him now that they were together.

"Oh, I'd draw my salary first and then I'd see that I had the proper
system of approach so that any one who came to see me would think I was
the King of England, and then I'd----"

"I was really busy yesterday," interpolated Summerfield apologetically.

"I'm satisfied of that," replied Eugene gaily. "And finally I might
condescend, if I were coaxed enough, to do a little work."

This speech at once irritated and amused Mr. Summerfield. He liked a man
of spirit. You could do something with someone who wasn't afraid, even
if he didn't know so much to begin with. And Eugene knew a good deal, he
fancied. Besides, his talk was precisely in his own sarcastic,
semi-humorous vein. Coming from Eugene it did not sound so hard as it
would have coming from himself, but it had his own gay, bantering
attitude of mind in it. He believed Eugene could make good. He wanted to
try him, instanter, anyhow.

"Well, I'll tell you what, Witla," he finally observed. "I don't know
whether you can run this thing or not--the probabilities are all against