I seized the opportunity and told him of my longing to get out of newspaper work. He listened attentively; he examined me, I was aware, more than attentively. In the end he asked me to come and see him for a personal chat--not in his office, but in his house. He named a day and hour. An invitation to his office I should have disregarded. It was the kindness of “my house” that won me. But the interview was disappointing, rather embarrassing as well to me. He asked many personal questions about my life and habits, it was all very business-like and chilling. In the end he mentioned vaguely that James Speyer, of Speyer Bros., was thinking, he believed, of engaging a secretary, and that possibly--he could not say for certain--he might, when he next saw him, suggest my name for the post. “Of course,” he added, still more cautiously, “you will understand I must make inquiries about you at the _Times_.” He promised to let me know if anything further came of it. For many weeks I heard no word. Then I wrote. The reply asked me to call at his office. He was kindness and sympathy personified. “The _Times_ gives you an excellent character,” he informed me, “and say they will be very sorry to lose you. I am sorry there has been this delay.” He handed me a personal letter to James Speyer. He invited me to dinner in his house the following evening. Before brushing up my dress-suit for the occasion--my first dinner in a decent house for many years--I had seen Mr. Speyer and had been engaged at a salary of $2,000 a year for a morning job, from 8 till 2 o’clock daily, with a general supervision during the day of his town and country houses, horses, servants, charities, and numerous other interests.