The younger man’s hunger, which had given up in despair, raised its head and bit into his vitals sharply.

“Maybe I—­”

“I’ve a notion to give you a chance.”

“That’s all I want,” the caller quavered, in a panic.  “Just give me a toe-hold, that’s all,” His voice broke in spite of his effort to hold it steady.  Burns wasn’t a bad sort, after all; just grouchy and irritable.  Perhaps this was merely his way.

Burns continued:  “Well, I will give you an assignment, a good assignment, too, and if you cover it I’ll put you on permanently.  I’ll do more than that, I’ll pay you what we pay our best man, if you make good.  That’s fair, isn’t it?”

He smiled benignly, and the soon-to-be reporter’s wits went capering off in a hysterical stampede.  Anderson felt the desire to wring the fellow’s hand.

“All that counts in this office is efficiency,” the latter went on.  “We play no favorites.  When a man delivers the goods we boost him; when he fails we fire him.  There’s no sentiment here, and I hold my job merely because I’m the best man in the shop.  Can you go to work to-night?”

“Why—­why—­yes, sir!”

“Very well.  That’s the spirit I like.  You can take your time on the story, and you needn’t come back till you bring it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now pay attention, here it is.  About two weeks ago a blond girl committed suicide in a Main Street boarding-house.  The body’s down at the Morgue now.  Find out who she is.”  He turned back to his desk and began to work.

The hungry youth behind him experienced a sudden sinking at the stomach.  All at once he became hopelessly empty and friendless, and he felt his knees urging him to sit down.  He next became conscious that the shoulders of Mr. Burns were shaking a bit, as if he had encountered a piece of rare humor.  After an instant, when Anderson made no move to go, the man at the desk wheeled about, exposing a bloated countenance purple with suppressed enjoyment.

“What’s the matter?” he giggled.  “Don’t you want the job?  I can’t tell you any more about the girl; that’s all we know.  The rest is up to you.  You’ll find out everything, won’t you?  Please do, for your own sake and the sake of The Intelligencer.  Yes, yes, I’m sure you will, because you’re a good newspaper man—­you told me so yourself.”  His appreciation of the jest threatened to strangle him.

“Mr. Burns,” began the other, “I—­I’m up against it.  I guess you don’t know it, but I’m hungry.  I haven’t eaten for three days.”

At this the editor became positively apoplectic.

“Oh yes—­yes, I do!” He nodded vigorously.  “You show it in your face.  That’s why I went out of my way to help you.  He!  He!  He!  Now you run along and get me the girl’s name and address while I finish this proof.  Then come back and have supper with me at the Press Club.”  Again he chortled and snickered, whereupon something sullen and fierce