Through this, at the present moment, he was gazing benevolently at Mr. Renshaw, as the latter fussed about the office in the throes of departure. To the editor's rapid fire of advice and warning he listened with the pleased and indulgent air of a father whose infant son frisks before him. Mr. Renshaw interested him. To Smith's mind Mr. Renshaw, put him in any show you pleased, would alone have been worth the price of admission. "Well," chirruped the holiday-maker--he was a little man with a long neck, and he always chirruped--"Well, I think that is all, Mr. Smith. Oh, ah, yes! The stenographer. You will need a new stenographer." The _Peaceful Moments_ stenographer had resigned her position three days before, in order to get married. "Unquestionably, Comrade Renshaw," said Smith. "A blonde." Mr. Renshaw looked annoyed. "I have told you before, Mr. Smith, I object to your addressing me as Comrade. It is not--it is not--er--fitting." Smith waved a deprecating hand. "Say no more," he said. "I will correct the habit. I have been studying the principles of Socialism somewhat deeply of late, and I came to the conclusion that I must join the cause. It looked good to me. You work for the equal distribution of property, and start in by swiping all you can and sitting on it. A noble scheme. Me for it. But I am interrupting you." Mr. Renshaw had to pause for a moment to reorganize his ideas. "I think--ah, yes. I think it would be best perhaps to wait for a day or two in case Mrs. Oakley should recommend someone. I mentioned the vacancy in the office to her, and she said she would give the matter her attention. I should prefer, if possible, to give the place to her nominee. She--" "--has eighteen million a year," said Smith. "I understand. Scatter seeds of kindness." Mr. Renshaw looked at him sharply. Smith's face was solemn and thoughtful. "Nothing of the kind," the editor said, after a pause. "I should prefer Mrs. Oakley's nominee because Mrs. Oakley is a shrewd, practical woman who--er--who--who, in fact--" "Just so," said Smith, eying him gravely through the monocle. "Entirely." The scrutiny irritated Mr. Renshaw. "Do put that thing away, Mr. Smith," he said. "That thing?" "Yes, that ridiculous glass. Put it away." "Instantly," said Smith, replacing the monocle in his vest-pocket. "You object to it? Well, well, many people do. We all have these curious likes and dislikes. It is these clashings of personal taste which constitute what we call life. Yes. You were saying?" Mr. Renshaw wrinkled his forehead. "I have forgotten what I intended to say," he said querulously. "You have driven it out of my head." Smith clicked his tongue sympathetically. Mr. Renshaw looked at his watch. "Dear me," he said, "I must be going. I shall miss my train. But I think I have covered the ground quite thoroughly. You understand everything?"