"It is a human document," said the colonel-editor, confidently, "from a man of great accomplishments who, in my opinion, has obtained a stronger grasp on the world and its outcomes than that of any man living to-day." Thacker rose to his feet excitedly. "Say!" he said. "It isn't possible that you've cornered John D. Rockefeller's memoirs, is it? Don't tell me that all at once." "No, sir," said Colonel Telfair. "I am speaking of mentality and literature, not of the less worthy intricacies of trade." "Well, what's the trouble about running the article," asked Thacker, a little impatiently, "if the man's well known and has got the stuff?" Colonel Telfair sighed. "Mr. Thacker," said he, "for once I have been tempted. Nothing has yet appeared in _The Rose of Dixie_ that has not been from the pen of one of its sons or daughters. I know little about the author of this article except that he has acquired prominence in a section of the country that has always been inimical to my heart and mind. But I recognize his genius; and, as I have told you, I have instituted an investigation of his personality. Perhaps it will be futile. But I shall pursue the inquiry. Until that is finished, I must leave open the question of filling the vacant space in our January number." Thacker arose to leave. "All right, Colonel," he said, as cordially as he could. "You use your own judgment. If you've really got a scoop or something that will make 'em sit up, run it instead of my stuff. I'll drop in again in about two weeks. Good luck!" Colonel Telfair and the magazine promoter shook hands. Returning a fortnight later, Thacker dropped off a very rocky Pullman at Toombs City. He found the January number of the magazine made up and the forms closed. The vacant space that had been yawning for type was filled by an article that was headed thus: SECOND MESSAGE TO CONGRESS Written for THE ROSE OF DIXIE BY A Member of the Well-known BULLOCH FAMILY, OF GEORGIA T. Roosevelt THE THIRD INGREDIENT The (so-called) Vallambrosa Apartment-House is not an apartment-house. It is composed of two old-fashioned, brownstone-front residences welded into one. The parlor floor of one side is gay with the wraps and head-gear of a modiste; the other is lugubrious with the sophistical promises and grisly display of a painless dentist. You may have a room there for two dollars a week or you may have one for twenty dollars. Among the Vallambrosa's roomers are stenographers, musicians, brokers, shop-girls, space-rate writers, art students, wire-tappers, and other people who lean far over the banister-rail when the door-bell rings. This treatise shall have to do with but two of the Vallambrosians-- though meaning no disrespect to the others.