before an hour had elapsed he had produced enough signs of being neither a genius nor a moron to set at rest any doubts that his aura might have roused in the four average breasts.
The outcome of the visit was a letter to an attache at the American embassy, where his accomplishments and credentials seemed to carry weight. Here there was no frantic stress laid on hundred-per-centism; personal quality was rather the criterion. The interview was pleasant and resulted in a half promise. Certain officials must be consulted, the budget of an overworked department looked into,—in short they would let him know.
For several days he waited, encouraged by the smooth progress of his first intrusion into the arena of public affairs, marvelling that a mere way of talking should open doors which he had always supposed it difficult to force, yet at the same time a little depressed at the prospect of sacrificing his precious independences to the deadly machine kept going by the countless pale young men and women who had glanced up at him from the desks to which fate had chained them.
Then came a courteous letter offering him a post as assistant to a dogmatic old gentleman who seemed to have spent his life as a monkey-wrench in the well-oiled machine of diplomacy. When Grover reported for service, he found a desk cleared for him before a smoking fireplace, where he was handed a stack of galley proofs, in English and French, setting forth an
