Arriving at the premises indicated he made his way in lifts and corridors till he came to the name of this great world undertaking upon the door of Room 443, and paused for a moment to recover from the astonishment he felt that the whole building at least was not occupied by the energies of such a prodigious association. “Appearances, however, are deceptive,” he thought; “and from a single grain of mustard-seed whole fields will flower.” He knocked on the door, therefore, and receiving the reply, “Cub id,” in a female voice, he entered a room where two young ladies with bad colds were feebly tapping type-writers. “Can I see the President?” asked Mr. Lavender. “Dot at the bobent,” said one of the young ladies. “Will the Secretary do?” “Yes,” replied Mr. Lavender “for I seek information.” The young ladies indulged in secret confabulation, from which the perpetual word “He” alone escaped to Mr. Lavender's ears. Then one of them slipped into an inner room, leaving behind her a powerful trail of eucalyptus. She came back almost directly, saying, “Go id.” The room which Mr Lavender entered contained two persons, one seated at a bureau and the other pacing up and down and talking in a powerful bass voice. He paused, looked at Mr. Lavender from under bushy brows, and at once went on walking and talking, with a sort of added zest. “This must be He,” thought Mr. Lavender, sitting down to listen, for there was something about the gentleman which impressed him at once. He had very large red ears, and hardly a hair on his head, while his full, bearded face and prominent eyes were full of force and genius. “It won't do a little bit, Titmarsh,” he was saying, “to allow the politicians to meddle in this racket. We want men of genius, whose imaginations carry them beyond the facts of the moment. This is too big a thing for those blasted politicians. They haven't shown a sign so far of paying attention to what I've been telling them all this time. We must keep them out, Titmarsh. Machinery without mechanism, and a change of heart in the world. It's very simple. A single man of genius from each country, no pettifogging opposition, no petty prejudices.” The other gentleman, whom Mr. Lavender took for the Secretary, and who was leaning his head rather wearily on his hand, interjected: “Quite so! And whom would you choose besides yourself? In France, for instance?” He who was walking stopped a moment, again looked at Mr. Lavender intently, and again began to speak as if he were not there. “France?” he said. “There isn't anybody—Anatole's too old—there isn't anybody.” “America, then?” hazarded the Secretary. “America!” replied the other; “they haven't got even half a man. There's that fellow in Germany that I used to influence; but I don't know—no, I don't think he'd be any good.” “D'Annunzio, surely——” began the Secretary.