the Chicago language now. Mr. Minot, I, too, want to thank you—"
They stepped into the elevator, the door slammed, the car began to descend. Minot stood gazing through the iron scroll work until the blond head of the helpless Lord Harrowby moved finally out of sight. Then he returned to his room and the time-tables, which seemed such dull unhappy reading.
Mr. Jack Paddock appeared to invite Minot to take dinner with him. His bags, he remarked, were all packed, and he was booked for the seven o'clock train.
"I've slipped down the mountain of gold," he said in the course of the dinner. "But all good things must end, and I certainly had a good thing. Somehow, I'm not so gloomy as I ought to be."
"Where are you going, Jack?" Minot asked.
Mr. Paddock leaned over confidentially.
"Did I say her father was in the plumbing business?" he inquired. "My error, Dick. He owns a newspaper—out in Grand Rapids. Offered me a job any time I wanted it. Great
