Hemming walked down Broadway on the morning of a bright November day. The hurrying crowds on the pavements, however weary at heart, looked glad and eager in the sunlight. The stir of the wide street got into his blood, and he stepped along with the air of one bound upon an errand that promised more than money. He entered a cigar store, and filled his case with Turkish cigarettes. Some newspapers lay on the counter, but he turned away from them, for he was sick of news. Further along, he glanced into the windows of a book-shop. His gaze alighted upon the figure of a Turkish soldier. Across the width of the sheet ran the magic words, "Where Might Is Right. A Book of the Greco-Turkish War. By Herbert Hemming." As one walks in a dream, Hemming entered the shop. "Give me a copy of that book," he said. "I beg your pardon, sir?" inquired the shopman. Hemming recovered his wits. "I want a copy of 'Where Might Is Right,' by Hemming," he said. He laid aside his gloves and stick, and opened the book with loving hands. His first book. The pride of it must have been very apparent on his tanned face, for the man behind the counter smiled. "I have read that book myself," ventured the man. "I always read a book that I sell more than twenty copies of in one day." Hemming glowed, and continued his scrutiny of the volume. On one of the first pages was printed, "Authorized American Edition." The name of the publishers was S----'s Sons. "Where do S----'s Sons hang out?" he asked, as he paid for the book. "Just five doors below this," said the man. "I'll look in there," decided Hemming, "before I call on Dodder." The war correspondent was cordially received by the head of the great publishing house. He was given a comprehensive account of the arrangements made between his London and New York publishers, and these proved decidedly satisfactory. The business talk over, Hemming prepared to go. "I hope you will look me up again before you leave town," said the head of the firm, as they shook hands. Arrived in the outer office of the New York News Syndicate, Hemming inquired for Mr. Dodder. The clerk stared at him with so strange an expression that his temper suffered. "Well, what the devil is the matter?" he exclaimed. "Mr. Dodder is dead," replied the youth. Just then Wells came from an inner room, caught sight of the Englishman, and approached. "So you're back, are you?" he remarked, with his hands in his pockets. Hemming was thinking of the big, kind-hearted manager, and replied by asking the cause of his death. "Apoplexy. Are you ready to sail for the Philippines? Why didn't you wait in Porto Rico for orders?" he snapped. "Keep cool, my boy," said Hemming's brain to Hemming's heart. Hemming himself said, with painful politeness: "I can be ready in two days, Mr. Wells, but first we must make some new arrangements as to expenses and salary."