Yet he was in no hurry now about following West into his sanctum.  Of all things Queed, as people called him, despised heroics and abhorred a “scene.”  Nothing could be gained by a quarrel now; very earnestly he desired the interview to be as matter-of-fact as possible.  In half an hour, when he had come to a convenient stopping-place, he opened the door and stood uncomfortably before the young man he had so long admired.

West, sitting behind his long table, skimming busily through the paper with blue pencil and scissors, looked up with his agreeable smile.

“Well!  What do you see that looks likely for—­What’s the matter?  Are you sick to-day?”

“No, I am quite well, thank you.  I find very little in the news, though.  You notice that a digest of the railroad bill is given out?”

“Yes.  You don’t look a bit well, old fellow.  You must take a holiday after the legislature goes.  Yes, I’m going to take the hide off that bill.  Or better yet—­you.  Don’t you feel like shooting off some big guns at it?”

“Certainly, if you want me to.  There is the farmers’ convention, too.  And by the way, I’d like to leave as soon as you can fill my place.”

West dropped scissors, pencil, and paper and stared at him with dismayed amazement. “Leave! Why, you are never thinking of leaving me!”

“Yes.  I’d—­like to leave.  I thought I ought to tell you this morning, so that you can at once make your plans as to my successor.”

“But my dear fellow!  I can’t let you leave me! You’ve no idea how I value your assistance, how I’ve come to lean and depend upon you at every point.  I never dreamed you were thinking of this.  What’s the matter?  What have you got on your mind?”

“I think,” said Queed, unhappily, “that I should be better satisfied off the paper than on it.”

“Why, confound you—­it’s the money!” said West, with a sudden relieved laugh.  “Why didn’t you tell me, old fellow?  You’re worth five times what they’re paying you—­five times as much as I am for that matter—­and I can make the directors see it.  Trust me to make them raise you to my salary at the next meeting.”

“Thank you—­but no, my salary is quite satisfactory.”

West frowned off into space, looking utterly bewildered.  “Of course,” he said in a troubled voice, “you have a perfect right to resign without saying a word.  I haven’t the smallest right to press you for an explanation against your will.  But—­good Lord!  Here we’ve worked together side by side, day after day, for nearly a year, pretty good friends, as I thought, and—­well, it hurts a little to have you put on your hat and walk out without a word.  I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, if I could, to fix it and keep you.”

The eyes of the two men met across the table, and it was Queed’s that faltered and fell.

“Well,” he said, obviously embarrassed, “I find that I am out of sympathy with the policy of the paper.”