“Splendid!  You know,” said West, “the first time I ever looked at that boy, I was sure he had the stuff in him.”

“Then you are a far keener observer than I. However, the nature of the man seems to be undergoing some subtle change, a curious kind of expansion—­I don’t remember anything like it in my experience.  A more indefatigable worker I never saw, and if he goes on this way....  Well, God moves in a mysterious way.  It’s a delight to see you again, Gardiner.  Take supper with me at the club, won’t you?  I feel lonely and grown old, as the poet says.”

West accepted, and presently departed on his happy round.  The Colonel glanced at his watch; it was 3.30 o’clock, and he fell industriously to work again.  On the stroke of four, as usual, the door of the adjoining office opened, and he heard his assistant enter and seat himself at the new desk recently provided for him.  Another half-hour passed, and the Colonel, putting a double cross-mark at the bottom of his paper—­that being how you write “Finis” on the press—­raised his head.

“Mr. Queed.”

“Yes.”

The connecting door opened, and the young man walked in.  His chief eyed him thoughtfully.

“Young man, you have picked up a complexion like a professional beauty’s.  What is your secret?”

“I daresay it is exercise.  I have just walked out to Kern’s Castle and back.”

“H’m.  Five miles if it’s a step.”

“And a half.  I do it—­twice a week—­in an hour and seven minutes.”

The Colonel thought of his own over-rubicund cheek and sighed.  “Well, whom or what do you wish to crucify to-morrow?”

“I am at your orders there.”

“Have you examined Deputy Clerk Folsom’s reply to Councilman Hannigan’s charge?  What do you think of it?”

“I think it puts Hannigan in a very awkward position.”

“I agree with you.  Suppose you seek to show that to the city in half a column.”

Queed bowed.  “I may, perhaps, remind you, Colonel, of the meeting in New York to-morrow to prepare for the celebration of the Darwin centennial.  If you desired I should be glad to prepare, apropos of this, a brief monograph telling in a light, popular way what Darwin did for the world.”

“And what did Darwin do for the world?”

The grave young man made a large grave gesture which indicated the immensity of Darwin’s doings for the world.

“Which topic do you prefer to handle—­Folsom on Hannigan, or what Darwin did for the world?”

“I think,” said Queed, “that I should prefer to handle both.”

“Ten people will read Hannigan to one who reads Darwin.”

“Don’t you think that it is the Post’s business to reduce that proportion?”

“Take them both,” said the Colonel presently.  “But always remember this:  the great People are more interested in a cat-fight at the corner of Seventh and Centre Streets than they are in the greatest exploit of the greatest scientific theorist that ever lived.”