At a small, flat desk near the gate sat, not a frecklefaced boy, but a man, powerful of build, keen-eyed and quick-muscled. He, was writing a letter on a very good quality of note-paper. He said: “Well?”--but kept on writing. He did not look up. This always discouraged strangers; by making them feel their utter insignificance. The effect on millionaire magnates, who similarly found themselves ignored, also was salutary. “I wish to see Mr. E. H. Merriwether,” said the young man, pleasantly and unimpressed. The gate-keeper wrote two paragraphs and then, still writing, asked, wearily: “Got an appointment?” “No; but--” The over-mature office-boy, in one breath and in a voice that dripped insolence, said, still without looking up: “What do you want to see him about? He is very busy. Cannot possibly see any one to-day. Good day!” There was a laugh, not at all ironical, or in the nature of an exaggerated and audible sneer, but full of amusement; and then the stranger without the gate said: “When I tell you what I am you will bring Mr. E. H. Merriwether to me.” The voice was not menacing at all or cold, but there was an assurance about it that made the Merriwether hireling look up. He saw a young man, of about thirty, with very intelligent, gray-blue eyes, a straight, well-modeled nose, and a determined chin. His square shoulders and general air of muscular strength made him look as if he could give as good an account of himself in a rough-and-tumble fight as in a battle of wits. The Merriwether gateman felt his entire being permeated by a feeling of hostility. This was neither a crank to turn over to a complaisant police nor an alms-seeker to be shooed away; nor yet a millionaire in good standing. He must be, therefore, a reporter of the new school made possible by the eccentricities of the Administration in Washington. “My good James,” said the new-school reporter, with a mocking superciliousness, “I would see your boss. Be expeditious.” The gate-keeper, whose name was not James but Doyle, flushed dangerously; but his wages were high, and he forced himself to keep his temper under control. For all that, his voice shook as he said: “If you have no appointment, you ought to know it's no use. No stranger from a newspaper ever sees Mr. Merriwether. I--I'm sorry!” Here Doyle gulped. Then he finished: “Good day!”--and resumed, his writing. The reporter said, “Look at me!” so sharply that Doyle in a flash pushed back his chair, jumped to his feet, and looked pugnaciously at the man who dared to give commands in E. H. Merriwether's office.