At the office I found the foreign correspondent, a little cosmopolitan Jew whose eyebrows began their growth on the bridge of his nose.

He was effusive and familiar, as the rest of his kind.
"Hullo, Granger," was his greeting.

I was used to regarding myself as fallen from a high estate, but I was not yet so humble in spirit as to relish being called Granger by a stranger of his stamp.

I tried to freeze him politely.
"Read your stuff in the _Hour_," was his rejoinder; "jolly good I call it.

Been doing old Red-Beard?
Let's have a look.