The young man quivered slightly, but sat motionless. 'Henry!' came the husky voice again. There could be no pretending not to hear. Henry went over there. Mr Boice sat still--he could; do that--great hands resting on his barrel-like thighs. 'I am rearranging the work of the paper--' he began. 'Yes,' muttered Henry, not without sullenness; 'I know.' 'Oh, you know!' 'Yes.' 'There's a little more for you to do. You'll have to get it cleaned up well ahead of time this week. Thursday is the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Sunbury. You'll have to cover that. Take down what you can of the speeches.' That seemed to be all. Henry moved slowly back to the table. After a little shuffling about of the papers on his desk, Mr Boice moved heavily out and headed toward the post-office. Then, and not before, Henry rummaged under a pile of exchanges at the rear of the table until he found a book. This he held close to his body, where it would not be seen should Humphrey turn unexpectedly. The book was entitled _Will Power and Self Mastery_. Opposite the title page was a half-tone reproduction of the author--a face with a huge moustache and intensely knit brows. Henry studied it, speculating in a sort of despair as to whether he could ever bring himself to look like that. He knit his own brows. His hand strayed again to his own downy moustache. He turned the pages. Read a sentence here and there. The book, though divided under various chapter headings, was really made up of hundreds of more or less pithy little paragraphs. These paragraphs--their substance mainly a rehandling of the work of Samuel Smiles, James Parton, and the Christian and Mental Scientists (though Henry didn't know this)--might easily have been shuffled about and arranged in other sequence, so little continuity of thought did they represent. One paragraph ran:-- The express train of Opportunity stops but once at your station. If you miss it, it will never again matter that you almost caught it. Another was-- Practise concentration. Fix your mind on the job in hand. Aim to do it a little better than such a job was ever done before. It is related of Thomas Alva Edison that, at the early age of seven, he---- And this:-- Oh, how many a young man, standing at the parting of life's main roads, has lost for ever the golden opportunity because he stopped to light a cigarette!' Henry replaced the book under the pile of exchanges. A copy of last week's _Voice_ lay there. It was the first time he had let an issue of the paper go by without reading and re-reading every line of his own work. But he had, during these five days, passed through one of life's great revolutions. Besides, he had been put on a salary basis. When on space-rates, it had been necessary to cut everything out and paste it up into a 'string' for measurement. It came to him now, with a warm little uprush of memory, that the best piece of writing he had ever done would be in this issue.