"Not alone. This lunch is on the office. As editor of this journal I will entertain you, if you will allow me, to a magnificent banquet. _Peaceful Moments_ is grateful to you. _Peaceful Moments,"_ he added, with the contented look the Far West editor must have worn as the bullet came through the window, "is, owing to you, going some now." * * * * * When they returned from lunch, and reentered the outer office, Pugsy Maloney, raising his eyes for a moment from his book, met them with the information that another caller had arrived and was waiting in the inner room. "Dere's a guy in dere waitin' to see youse," he said, jerking his head towards the door. "Yet another guy? This is our busy day. Did he give a name?" "Says his name's Maude," said Master Maloney, turning a page. "Maude!" cried Betty, falling back. Smith beamed. "Old John Maude!" he said. "Great! I've been wondering what on earth he's been doing with himself all this time. Good-old John! You'll like him," he said, turning, and stopped abruptly, for he was speaking to the empty air. Betty had disappeared. "Where's Miss Brown, Pugsy?" he said. "Where did she go?" Pugsy vouchsafed another jerk of the head, in the direction of the outer door. "She's beaten it," he said. "I seen her make a break for de stairs. Guess she's forgotten to remember somet'ing," he added indifferently, turning once more to his romance of prairie life. "Goils is bone-heads." CHAPTER XVII THE MAN AT THE ASTOR Refraining from discussing with Master Maloney the alleged bone-headedness of girls, Smith went through into the inner room, and found John sitting in the editorial chair, glancing through the latest number of _Peaceful Moments_. "Why, John, friend of my youth," he said, "where have you been hiding all this time? I called you up at your office weeks ago, and an acid voice informed me that you were no longer there. Have you been fired?" "Yes," said John. "Why aren't you on the _News_ any more? Nobody seemed to know where you were, till I met Faraday this morning, who told me you were here." Smith was conscious of an impression that in some subtle way John had changed since their last meeting. For a moment he could not have said what had given him this impression. Then it flashed upon him. Before, John had always been, like Mrs. Fezziwig in "The Christmas Carol," one vast substantial smile. He had beamed cheerfully on what to him was evidently the best of all possible worlds. Now, however, it would seem that doubts had occurred to him as to the universal perfection of things. His face was graver. His eyes and his mouth alike gave evidence of disturbing happenings.