_A man named Cyrus Jenks, known as Old Cy, committed suicide last night by hanging himself in the barn. He was a well-known village character, chiefly noted for his intemperate habits. The inquest will be held today. His one good trait was his devotion to his old mother, who died recently. He was her illegitimate child. She was one of the Bensons, who until her disgrace were one of the principal families in the county. Her father was Judge Benson. The family moved to North Dakota years ago, and left her here in the old family home, where she lived alone with her son until she died. Before hanging himself Old Cy set fire to the house, and it was partly burned. Since the old lady’s death he had received several offers for the place, but refused to sell, and said that no one should ever set foot in his mother’s house. The incident is causing much local comment._ Felix drew a long breath. He certainly had overlooked something! He could see that story, with its headlines, on the front page of the Record—rewritten by himself. It was just the kind of story that he could handle in a way to bring out all its values. And he had had it in his hands—and had let it pass through them, buried in a collection of worthless country items! “The postmistress at Wheaton,” Hastings was saying gently, “is not supposed to know a front-page story. You are supposed to know—that is the theory on which you are hired.” Felix did not reply. There was nothing to be said. Hastings was looking at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Felix,” he said. “I thought you were going to make a good newspaper man. And sometimes I think so still. But mostly—you aren’t worth a damn.” “Yes, sir,” said Felix. “—I mean, no, I don’t think I am, either.” He was going to be fired.... Well, he deserved it. He ought to have been fired long ago. And he was rather glad that it was happening. Hastings was rather taken aback. “Well,” he said, “frankly, I was going to let you go. But—well, there’s no harm done this time; we’d already gone to press when that stuff came in. Of course, I don’t say that your—your letting it get by was excusable. In fact, I simply can’t understand it. But—if you realize—” So he was not going to be fired after all! Felix was unaccountably sorry. “If you think you can pull yourself together—” said Hastings. “I’d hate to have you leave the Record. I’ve always—” Felix felt desperate. He knew now why he wanted to be fired. It would give him the necessary push into his Chicago adventure. He would never have the courage to leave this job, and venture into the unknown, upon his own initiative. He didn’t have any initiative. “I don’t think it’s any use, Mr. Hastings,” he said, “keeping me on the Record.” Hastings stared at him incredulously.