"Simple enough," said the doctor complacently. "Out with it, if you have an idea." The doctor leaned forward and whispered a few words. "Well, I'm hanged!" Braine laughed and slapped the doctor on the shoulder. "The simplest thing in the world. Mad dog wouldn't be in it. I always said that you had gray matter if you cared to exert yourself." "Thanks," replied the doctor dryly. "I'll drop down there to-morrow, if you say so, ostensibly to see the other patient. It will make a deuce of a disturbance." "Not if you scare the hotel people." "That is what I propose to do. They will not want such a thing known. It would scare every one away for the rest of the season. But of course this depends upon whether they are honest or in the hotel business to make money." Again Braine laughed. "Bring her back to New York alone, Esculapius, and a fat check is yours. Nothing could be simpler than an idea like this. It's a fact; no man can think of everything, and you've just proved it to me. I've tried to do a general's work without aids. Olga, does any one watch me come and go any more?" "No; I've watched a dozen nights. The man has gone. Either he found out what he wanted or he gave up the job. To my mind he found out what he wanted." "And what's that?" "Heaven knows!" discouragedly. "Come, doctor, suppose you and I go down to Daly's for a little turn at billiards?" "Nothing would suit me better." "All aboard, then! Good night, Olga, keep your hair on; I mean your own hair. We're going to win out, don't you worry. In all games the minute you begin to doubt you begin to lose." That same night Norton sat at his desk, in his shirt sleeves, pounding away at his typewriter. From time to time he paused and teetered his chair and scowled over his pipe at the starlit night outside. Bang! would go his chair again, and clickity-click would sing the keys of the machine. The story he was writing was in the ordinary routine; the arrival of a great ocean liner with some political notables who were not adverse to denouncing the present administration. You will have noticed, no doubt, that some disgruntled politician is always denouncing the present administration, it matters not if it be Republican or Democratic. When you are out of a good job you are always prone to denounce. The yarn bored. Norton because his thoughts were miles southward. He completed his story, yanked out the final sheet, called for a copy boy, rose and sauntered over to the managing editor's door, before which he paused indecisively. The "old man" had been after him lately regarding the Hargreave story, and he doubted if his errand would prove successful. However, he boldly opened the door and walked in. "Humph!" said the "old man," twisting his cigar into the corner of his mouth. "Got that story?" Norton sat down. "Yes, but I have not got it for print yet. Mr. Blair, when you gave me the Hargreave job you gave me carte blanche."