He was going into the "rinktum" of the editor-in-chief for copy. The door stood slightly ajar. He made no noise and for some moments his entrance was unnoticed. The crack reporter of the paper in a mysterious undertone was detailing something about the burned theatre to the editor-in-chief. There were present other editors of the various departments. Their faces all wore that excited, absorbed look which Ned had noticed whenever the name of Gorham was mentioned. One hasty scribe, in leaving off writing to come to listen, had thrust his pen behind his ear with an eager awkwardness that left a smear upward from the eyebrow and gave him an unwonted Mephistophelian aspect. "Gorham says he is not going to rebuild his theatre," continued the reporter. The ensuing silence had all the effect of an interrogation point. "Says he is going to build stores only, strictly commercial purposes," pursued the interviewer. There was a murmur of surprise, which could not, however, be construed as an interruption. "He said he had concluded to go out of the theatrical business,--he had got sick of it; I asked why, and--and"--The young man broke into a laugh of mingled scorn and enjoyment. It was expressive, but clogged utterance. "Why?" demanded the coterie in chorus. "His mother was a Methodist," exclaimed the young sprig with another burst of hilarity. A moment of dumb amazement. "Has he just found that out?" asked the editor at last. The writer who had smeared his face with ink accented its effect with a sneer. "Just found it out when he has gotten rid of a ruinous piece of property, converted into a splendid commercial building site, and with his pockets full of spot cash, his insurance." "Ah, but his pockets are not full of cash," said the interviewer. "I was just coming to that. The insurance companies haven't as yet ponied up. They have paid nothing. They seem 'rather slow,' he said. He supposes there must be 'a little hitch' somewhere,--it is a large sum with each company,--but he expects it presently. That is what he said. Upon my word I can't make him out. He told it all as innocently as a baby." Ned could not make them out. He hardly felt that he understood the language in which they spoke, so little meaning did their words convey to him. He puzzled over this conversation often, but without result.