In addition the Colonel wrote
three columns of editorials every day. Of these editorials it is enough
to say at this point that there were people who liked them.
Toward this dominant personality, the reluctant applicant for work now
made his way. He cut an absent-minded figure upon the street, did Mr.
Queed, but this time he made his crossings without mishap. Undisturbed
by dogs, he landed at the _Post_ building, and in time blundered into a
room described as "Editorial" on the glass-door. A friendly young girl
sitting there, pounding away on a typewriter, referred him to the next
office, and the young man, opening the connecting door without knocking,
passed inside.
A full-bodied, gray-headed, gray-mustached man sat in his shirt-sleeves
behind a great table, writing with a very black pencil in a large
sprawling hand. He glanced up as the door opened.
"Colonel Cowles?"
"I am the man, sir. How may I serve you?"
Queed laid on the table the card West had given him with a pencilled
line of introduction.
"Oh--Mr. Queed! Certainly--certainly. Sit down, sir. I have been
expecting you.
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