John’s eyes followed it with a little look of pleasure. There was something about that color that always made him happy. He did not know this and it had never occurred to him to be diplomatic. But a hint of a smile crossed the girl’s mouth. “Well?” She was looking at him tolerantly. He drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “These are to be copied--leaving blanks here, and here--Send a boy when they are done. He wants two carbons--very clear.” “All right.” She took them from him with a look of relief. It might be an honor to take down ’the old man’s dictation, but it was an honor she could dispense with. She fluffed her fingers toward the glinting hair and descended on the keys. John stood for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the crisping hair in the wide window-light. The girl had turned her head a little and it twinkled, but did not look up. As he crossed the room, he glanced casually at the new occupant. Her head was bent to the receiver and a little smile played about her lips. “Yes--yes--yes?--yes.” Her fingers moved quickly and she nodded once or twice as if listening to something pleasant. “She _likes_ to work for him,” thought John, “same as I do.” With a look of satisfaction on his round face he closed the office door behind him. He had accomplished, without a jar, what perhaps no other man in the service could have done. But he was not thinking of this--he hardly knew it. He was planning what Simeon should have for luncheon--something hot and staying.... He reached out a hand to a boy who was hurrying toward the elevator. “Hold up, Sandy. What’s that?” “A note for the president.” It was the tone of pride. John smiled a little as he held out his hand. “I ’ll take it to him--and here--” The hoy’s face had fallen, “Take this--” He wrote hastily on a pad--“Carry that, one o’clock sharp, to the Holman House. They ’ll give you a luncheon for the president. Sprint, won’t you?” “You bet.” The smile was stealing back to the boyish face. John nodded. “Bring it up yourself--set it on the box by the door--not later than one, mind.” The boy nodded and was gone, tucking the note in his pocket. It did not occur to him to question the authority of this slow-moving young man--hardly more than a boy himself. It did not occur to any one to question it, as he made his way in a sort of slow-looking, fast fashion about the building, doing the things, little and big, that came to his hand. One did not think of the boy apart from his eyes. It was as if a spirit dwelt there, guiding the slowness and sureness, and men yielded to it, as they yield to the light when it shines on them.