CHAPTER XI.
THE HONER'BLE OJOY BOGLIN One morning while Patsy was alone in her office, busied over her work, the door softly opened and a curious looking individual stood before her.
He was thin in form, leathery skinned and somewhat past the middle age of life.

His clothing consisted of a rusty black Prince Albert coat, rusty trousers to match, which were carefully creased, cowhide shoes brilliant with stove polish, a tall silk hat of antiquated design, and a frayed winged collar decorated with a black tie on which sparkled a large diamond attached to a chain.

He had chin whiskers of a sandy gray color and small gray eyes that were both shrewd and suspicious in expression.
He stood in the doorway a moment, attentively eyeing the girl, while she in turn examined him with an amusement she could not quite suppress.
Then he said, speaking in a low, diffident voice: "I'm lookin' for the editor." "I am the editor," asserted Patsy.
"Really ?" "It is quite true." He seemed disconcerted a moment, striving to regain his assurance.

Then he took out a well-worn pocketbook and from its depths abstracted a soiled card which, leaning forward, he placed carefully upon the table before Patsy.

She glanced at it and read: "Hon.