The Angel. Thorne Guy

eyes. He was thinking deeply.

      Suddenly he was startled by an exclamation from Hampson.

      Turning, he saw that the little man's face was alive with excitement and flushed with pleasure.

      "What is it, my dear fellow?" he asked.

      "The most wonderful thing, Joseph! Fortune and prosperity at last! The big newspaper firm of Rees—Sir David Rees is the head of it—have offered me the editorship of their religious weekly, The Sunday Friend. I have written a dozen articles or so for them from time to time, and I suppose this is the result! I am to go and see Mr. Marston, the managing editor, to-morrow."

      The words tumbled breathlessly from his lips—he could hardly articulate them in his enthusiasm and excitement. Joseph pressed his friend's hand. He knew well what this opportunity meant to the conscientious and hard-working little journalist, who had never had a chance before.

      It meant freedom from the terrible and nerve-destroying hunt for food—the horrible living from meal to meal—the life of an animal in this regard, at least, but without the animal's faculties for satisfying its hunger. It meant that Hampson's real talent would now be expressed in its fullest power.