face of the Welsh forward-line, he had
faltered and lost the International. Should he ever be able to forget
the agony of that moment and of the day that followed? And yet, he need
not have failed. He knew he could play his position with any man in
Scotland; he had failed because he was not fit. He set his teeth hard.
He would show these bally Colonials! He would make good! And with his
head high, he walked into the somewhat dingy offices of the Metropolitan
Transportation & Cartage Company, of which William Fleming, Esquire, was
manager.

Opening the door, Cameron found himself confronted by a short counter
that blocked the way for the general public into the long room, filled
with desks and chairs and clicking typewriting machines. Cameron had
never seen so many of these machines during the whole period of his
life. The typewriter began to assume an altogether new importance in
his mind. Hitherto it had appeared to him more or less of a Yankee fad,
unworthy of the attention of an able-bodied man of average intelligence.
In Edinburgh a "writing machine" was still something of a new-fangled
luxury, to be apologised for. Mr. Rae would allow no such finicky
instrument in his office. Here, however, there were a dozen, more or
less, manipulated for the most part by young ladies, and some of them
actually by men; on every side they clicked and banged. It may have
been the clicking and banging of these machines that gave to Cameron the
sense of rush and hurry so different from the calm quiet and dignified
repose of the only office he had ever known. For some moments he stood
at the counter, waiting attention from one of the many clerks sitting
before him, but though one and another occasionally glanced in his
direction, his presence seemed to awaken not even a passing curiosity in
their minds, much less to suggest the propriety of their inquiring his
business.

As the moments passed Cameron became conscious of a feeling of affront.
How differently a gentleman was treated by the clerks in the office
of Messrs. Rae & Macpherson, where prompt attention and deferential
courtesy in a clerk were as essential as a suit of clothes. Gradually
Cameron's head went up, and with it his choler. At length, in his
haughtiest tone, he hailed a passing youth:

"I say, boy, is this Mr. Fleming's office?"

The clicking and banging of the typewriters, and the hum of voices
ceased. Everywhere heads were raised and eyes turned curiously upon t