GRAND UNION HOTEL, Saratoga Springs. _My dear Mr. Harding_,--If it will not violate any of your office rules, I shall be greatly obliged if you will hand the enclosed check for $250 to your young reporter who was here to-day, Mr. Richard Sumner, as a slight token of my admiration and esteem. Mr. Sumner came to me for assistance when an attempt was made to bribe him to suppress news. The money had been forced into his pocket, and he put it at once in my hands to be returned to the owner. He was so heartbroken over the affair, so grieved that even an attempt of the sort should be made that it really did me good to see him. I owe him something for the new sensation he gave me, and this little check will not nearly pay the bill. Sincerely yours, HENRY CLAIR. “Bother those blushes of mine!” Dick said to himself as he read the letter. “Why in the world is it that the blood always rushes to my head and makes me blush like a girl when anything excites me?” “It is very kind in Mr. Clair, sir,” he said as he handed the letter back to the editor; “but”-- “Of course not,” Mr. Harding interrupted. “It is not to be thought of. Here is the check; send it back to Mr. Clair yourself with my compliments and regrets. That is all, Mr. Sumner.” It seemed to Dick that his dismissal was rather curt, but he was not used yet to the ways of great editors with young reporters. He was barely out of the room when a bell tapped. Any Transport man would have known that it was the editor-in-chief’s bell without hearing it. The movements of the office boy on duty would have made that plain. At a tap of the editor-in-chief’s bell the office boy flies, because a nod from the great man will put a new boy in his place. For the managing editor’s bell he moves with some celerity, for the managing editor is his immediate boss. The city editor’s bell summons him usually, when it is struck hard and the tap is repeated. When a reporter calls he is deeply engrossed in affairs of his own. This time it was the bell of the editor-in-chief, and the boy flew past Dick to answer the summons. “Mr. Brown,” the editor said to the boy; and in a twinkling Mr. Brown stood before his chief. “What are you paying Sumner, Mr. Brown?” the editor asked. “Fifteen dollars a week, sir.” “He’s the man who did the Sing Sing story, isn’t he? And that humorous account of the search for Sterling’s body?” “Yes, sir.” “You may raise him to forty dollars, beginning with this week.” “Very well, sir.”