"Barring the last, these are exactly the qualifications of a good bull-terrier." "Oh!" cried the girl indignantly, and half rising. "You are insulting!" "No," denied Darrow. "Not that--never to you, Helen, and you know it! I'm merely talking sense. Leaving aside the minor consideration that I am myself looking for employment, what use has a scientist for a bull-terrier? Jack has no aptitude for science; he has had none of the accurate training absolutely essential to science. He probably wouldn't be interested in science. At the moment he happens to admire me, and I'm mighty glad and proud that it is so. But that doesn't help. If I happened to be a saloon man, Jack would quite as cheerfully want to be a barkeeper. I'd do anything in the world to help Jack; but I'm not the man. You want to hunt up somebody that needs a good bull-terrier. Lots do." "I hate such a cold-blooded way of going at things!" cried the girl. "You show no more interest in Jack than if--than if--" Darrow smiled whimsically. "Indeed I do, Helen," he said quietly; "that is why I don't want to touch his life. Science would ruin him quicker than an office--in the long run. What he wants is a job of action--something out West--or in the construction of our great and good city. Now, if I had a political pull, instead of a scientific twist, I could land Jack in a minute. Why don't you try that?" But Helen slowly shook her head. "Father and McCarthy are enemies," she said simply. She arose with an air of weariness. "How dark it's getting!" she said, and pressed the electric button in the wall. The light did not respond. "That's queer," she remarked, and pulled the chain that controlled the reading light on the table. That, too, failed to illuminate. "Something must be wrong with those things at the meter--what do you call them?" "Fuses," suggested Darrow. "Yes, that's it. I'll ring and have Blake screw in another." Darrow was staring at a small object he had taken from his pocket. It was the electric flash-light he habitually carried to light his way up the three dark flights at his lodgings. "Let me call him for you," he suggested, rising. "I'll ring," said Helen. But Darrow was already in the hall. "Blake!" he called down the basement stairway. "Bring lamps--or candles." The man appeared on the word, carrying a lamp. "I already had this, sir," he explained. "The lights went out some time ago." "Did you look at the--fuses?" asked Helen. "Yes, miss." "Well, telephone to the electric company at once. We must have light." Percy Darrow had taken his place again in the armchair by the fire. "It is useless," said he, quietly. "Useless!" echoed Helen. "What do you mean?" Blake stood quietly at attention. "You will find your telephone also out of order." Helen darted from the room, only to return after a moment, laughing. "You are a true wizard," she said. "Tell me, how did you know? What has happened?"