"So I become a private secretary, till the time offers something
better." Breitmann stared at the sea.

"I am sorry. I wish I could help you. Better let me try." Fitzgerald
stirred his coffee. "You are convinced that there is some cabal
working against you in the newspaper business? That seems strange.
Some of them must have heard of your work--London, Paris, Berlin. Have
you tried them all?"

"Yes. Nothing for me, but promises as thick as yonder sands."

The little man rose, and walked out of the room, smiling.

"Splendid!" he murmured. "What a specimen to add to my collection!"

"Do you know what your duties will be?" Fitzgerald inquired.

"They will consist of replying to begging letters from the needy and
deserving, from crazy inventors, and ministers. In the meantime, I am
to do translating, together with indexing a vast library devoted to
pirates. Droll, isn't it?" Breitmann laughed, but this time without
bitterness.

"It is a harmless hobby," rather resenting Breitmann's tone.

"More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ
me for some length of time."

"When do they expect you?"