every one by his faculty for business. They took him in his
eighteenth year to the editor of an evening paper who was known to them,
and begged that he should be received into the office to gain an insight
into literary life, as they hoped in a few more years he would become a
novelist.

"Suppose I'll have to give you a trial," growled the editor to the
sulky-looking novelist-to-be, when the ladies had fluttered away. "Here
you are, here's a bank manager made a mess of his accounts--no roguery
about it, simple confusion, and he goes and shoots himself and his
wife--can you turn that into a novel of two hundred words?"

"No, I can't," said Thomas, who hated all things literary. Then his
sulky look vanished and his eyes brightened. "But I tell you what I
_could_ do--go and straighten out the poor chap's accounts."

"Here," said the editor, "you'd better go downstairs, my fine fellow,
and ask Mr. Gates to give you a stool in the office."

So Thomas became a valued clerk in the counting-house. And presently
when a foolish, feminine speculation swept away the income of the
sisters, Thomas established himself as guardian of their bank-books, and
general business man of the family.

The sisters, though a little money was still left, decided to take
situations as governesses and companions, telling each other it would
widen their outlook on life, and give them experiences that might prove
invaluable in their literary work. Judge and Mrs. Lomax felt themselves
fortunate when Miss Agnes Bibby, with such unquestionable credentials,
appeared in answer to their advertisement for some one to take charge of
their family during their absence.

And now came a letter from Thomas in the city to Agnes at "Greenways":--

"Dear old Ag.--

"Here's a chance for you if you can only take it. We've just heard that
writing chap, Hugh Kinross, has gone to Burunda for a holiday. The
beggar has dodged every attempt at an interview, though we and every
other paper, for the matter of that, have lain for him in every possible
place. Well, I was talking to the editor the other day--he's no end
affable to me, and often has a chat--and I happened to say you were at
Burunda. And he said, 'Burunda! why that's where Kinross is taking a
holiday. Tell her to get any interesting information she can about him,
and I'll pay her well for it. If she can manage an interview--a woman
can rush in sometimes where a man fears to tread--I'll give her six
guine