d fair as a lady's,
with rosy spots in them and a few freckles about his nose. He laughed as
he finished reading the letter.

'Are you Dave Brower's boy?' he asked in a drawling falsetto, looking at
me out of grey eyes and smiling with good humour.

'By adoption,' I answered.'

'He was an almighty good rassler,' he said, deliberately, as he looked
again at the letter.'

'What do you want to do?' he asked abruptly.'

'Want to work on the Tribune,' I answered.'

'Good Lord! he said. 'I can't hire everybody.'

I tried to think of some argument, but what with looking at the great
man before me, and answering his questions and maintaining a decent show
of dignity, I had enough to do.

'Do you read the Tribune? he asked.'

'Read it ever since I can remember.'

'What do you think of the administration?

'Lot of dough faces! I answered, smiling, as I saw he recognised his own
phrase. He sat a moment tapping the desk with his penholder.'

'There's so many liars here in New York,' he said, 'there ought to be
room for an honest man. How are the crops?'

'Fair, I answered. 'Big crop of boys every year.'

'And now you're trying to find a market, he remarked.'

'Want to have you try them,' I answered.

'Well,' said he, very seriously, turning to his desk that came up to his
chin as he sat beside it, 'go and write me an article about rats.'

'Would you advise-,' I started to say, when he interrupted me.

'The man that gives advice is a bigger fool than the man that takes it,'
he fleered impatiently. 'Go and do your best!'

Before he had given me this injunction he had dipped his pen and begun
to write hurriedly. If I had known him longer I should have known that,
while he had been talking to me, that tireless mind of his had summoned
him to its service. I went out, in high spirits, and sat down a moment
on one of the benches in the little park near by, to think it all
over. He was going to measure my judgement, my skill as a writer--my
resources. 'Rats,' I said to myself thoughtfully. I had read much about
them. They infested the ships, they overran the wharves, they traversed
the sewers. An inspiration came to me. I started for the waterfront,
asking my way every block or two. Near the East River I met a
policeman--a big, husky, good-hearted Irishman.

'Can you tell me,' I said, 'who can give me information about rats?'

'Rats?' he repeated. 'What d' ye wan't' know about thim?'

'Everything,' I said. 'They