The gift is not mine.

It was the spontaneous offering of another who really admired our friend's work,--a gentleman who"-- He stopped suddenly.
The sound of a familiar voice, lightly humming, was borne along the passage; the light tread of a familiar foot was approaching.

The editor turned quickly towards the open door,--so quickly that Mr.Bowers was fain to turn also.
For a charming instant the figure of Jack Hamlin, handsome, careless, and confident, was framed in the doorway.

His dark eyes, with their habitual scorn of his average fellow-man, swept superciliously over Mr.Bowers, and rested for an instant with caressing familiarity on the editor.
"Well, sonny, any news from the old girl at the Summit ?" "No-o," hastily stammered the editor, with a half-hysterical laugh.

"No, Jack.