She had enough experience of the world to know that great matters often depend for their success on apparent trivialities, and the young woman had set her mind on becoming a member of the _Daily Bugle_ staff.
She stepped lightly into the hansom that was waiting for her, and said to the cabman, "Office of the _Daily Bugle_, please; side entrance." The careful toilette made its first impression upon the surly-looking Irish porter, who, like a gruff and faithful watch-dog, guarded the entrance to the editorial rooms of the _Bugle_.

He was enclosed in a kind of glass-framed sentry-box, with a door at the side, and a small arched aperture that was on a level with his face as he sat on a high stool.

He saw to it, not too politely, that no one went up those stairs unless he had undoubted right to do so.

When he caught a glimpse of Miss Baxter, he slid off the stool and came out of the door to her, which was an extraordinary concession to a visitor, for Pat Ryan contented himself, as a usual thing, by saying curtly that the editor was busy, and could see no one.
"What did you wish, miss?
To see the editor?
That's Mr.Hardwick.

Have ye an appointment with him?
Ye haven't; then I very much doubt if ye'll see him this day, mum.