“Have you heard from the chief about me yet?” he asked. The “World” man frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm, hurried with him toward the cable-office. “Charlie, I think they're crazy up there,” he began, “they think they know it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think--” “You mean they won't have me,” said Channing. “But why?” he asked, patiently. “They used to give me all the space I wanted.” “Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now,” said the “World” man, with sympathetic indignation. “But here's their cable; you can see it's not my fault.” He read the message aloud. “Channing, no. Not safe, take reliable man from Siboney.” He folded the cablegram around a dozen others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket. “What queered you, Charlie,” he explained, importantly, “was that last break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week. It was once too often, and the chief's had it in for you ever since. You remember?” Channing screwed up his lips in an effort of recollection. “Yes, I remember,” he answered, slowly. “It began on New Year's eve in Perry's drug-store, and I woke up a week later in a hack in Boston. So I didn't have such a run for my money, did I? Not good enough to have to pay for it like this. I tell you,” he burst out suddenly, “I feel like hell being left out of this war, with all the rest of the boys working so hard. If it weren't playing it low down on the fellows that have been in it from the start, I'd like to enlist. But they enlisted for glory, and I'd only do it because I can't see the war any other way, and it doesn't seem fair to them. What do you think?” “Oh, don't do that,” protested the World manager. “You stick to your own trade. We'll get you something to do. Have you tried the Consolidated Press yet?” Channing smiled grimly at the recollection. “Yes, I tried it first.” “It would be throwing pearls to swine to have you write for them, I know, but they're using so many men now. I should think you could get on their boat.” “No, I saw Keating,” Channing explained. “He said I could come along as a stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems--” “Keating said--what?” exclaimed the “World” man. “Keating? Why, he stands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't that he's just married, the C. P. boys would have reported him a dozen times.” “Reported him, what for?” “Why--you know. His old complaint.” “Oh, that,” said Channing. “My old complaint?” he added. “Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'd have fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled him through. They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought to go shoot himself; he's only been married three months and he's handling the biggest piece of news the country's had in thirty years, and he can't talk straight. There's a time for everything, I say,” growled the “World” man.