The Colonel's bones were dust, his pen was rust, his
soul was with the saints, we trust; but his gallant spirit went marching
on. He towered out of memory a demigod, and what he said and did in his
lifetime had become as the law of the Medes and Persians now.
But there was never any dispute about the division of editorial honors
on the _Post_, anyway. The two young men, in fact, were so different in
every way that their relations were a model of mutual satisfaction.
Never once did Queed's popular chief seek to ride over his valued
helper, or deny him his full share of opportunity in the department. If
anything, indeed, he leaned quite the other way. For West lacked the
plodder's faculty for indefatigable application. Like some rare and
splendid bird, if he was kept too closely in captivity, his spirit
sickened and died.
It is time to admit frankly that West, upon closer contact with
newspaper work, had been somewhat disillusioned, and who that knows,
will be surprised at that? To begin with, he had been used to much
freedom, and his new duties were extremely confining. They began soon
after breakfast, and no man could say at what hour they would end.
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