A little man with a beak of a nose was waiting in the corridor and hastened to unlock a door marked “Private,” and the colonel went in, and the little man locked the door and tiptoed down the corridor to the general offices. Before he removed his hat Colonel Dodd carefully stripped the tissue-paper from the damp flowers. There were two huge bouquets. He set these into vases of ornate bronze, one on each end of his desk. He patted and stroked the flowers until they appeared to best advantage. He stood back and bestowed affectionate regard on them. No human being had ever reported the receipt of such a look from Colonel Symonds Dodd. It was rather astonishing to find softness in him in respect to flowers. He seemed as hard as a block of wood. He had a squat, square body and his legs seemed to be set on the corners of that body. His square face was smooth except for a wisp of whisker, minute as a water-color brush, jutting from under his pendulous lower lip. He hung up his hat and stood for a moment before a massive mirror. The report in Marion was that he stood before that mirror and made up his expression to suit the character of a day's business. Then he sat down at his desk and stuck a pudgy finger on one button of a battery of buttons. A girl entered with a promptitude which showed that she had been waiting for the summons. He did not look up at her. His gaze was on one of the bouquets. She brought a portfolio and packets of letters all neatly docketed. His salutation was merely, “Miss Kilgour.” Colonel Dodd did not deal in many “Good-mornings.” It was also reported in Marion and the state that his stock of urbanity was so small he was compelled to expend it very thriftily. He certainly did not waste any of it on his office help. He might have afforded at least one glance at the girl, for she was extremely pretty. Still another report in Marion was to the effect that he had selected Kate Kilgour as his secretary as the final artistic touch to the beauty of his private office in order that he might have a perfect ensemble. She did seem, so far as his interest in her went, to be only a part of that ensemble which he occasionally swept carelessly with his gaze--he reserved all his intimate admiration for the bouquets. She laid his “Strictly Personal” letters on his fresh blotter. She sat down and began to read the business letters aloud, not waiting for his orders to begin. It was her daily routine, business transacted as Colonel Dodd wished it to be transacted--crisply, promptly, directly. He dictated replies, usually laconic, even curt, as soon as she had finished each letter. His eyes were on the flowers as he talked. When the letters were finished she retired with her portfolio and her notes, the thick carpet muffling the sound of her withdrawal.