Winner Stories

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grim or humorous she could not quite decide. He was sitting in a
swivel chair, and the table strewn with letters, and the desk with
its pigeon holes crammed with papers, looked so natural and so like
her father's that she began to feel a reassuring sense of
fellowship with this entire stranger. The inevitable pastepot and
scissors, the piles of newspapers, the books of reference, all
looked homelike to her.
Mr. Bircham rose and bowed rather formally, motioned her to a seat,
and swung round his own seat so that they faced one another. Then
he scanned her from head to foot with the sort of appraising glance
to which she was only too well accustomed a glance which said as
plainly as words: Oh! So you are that atheist's daughter are
you?
But whatever impression Erica made upon Mr. Bircham, not a muscle
of his face altered, and he began to discuss business in a most
formal and businesslike way. Things did not seem very hopeful,
and Erica began to doubt more and ore whether she had the smallest
chance of acceptance. Something in the dry formal manner of the
editor struck a chill to her heart. So much, so very much depended
on this interview, and already the prospect seemed far from
hopeful.
I should like to see some of your work, observed Mr. Bircham.
How long have you been in the habit of writing in Mr. Raeburn's
organ?
For the last five years, said Erica.
Mr. Bircham lifted his shaggy eyebrows at this, for Erica looked
even younger than she really was. However, he made no comment, but
took up the end of a speaking tube.
Send up Jones with the file of 'IdolBreakers' I ordered.
Erica's color rose. Presently the answer from the lower regions
appeared in the shape of the sedate clerk carrying a great bundle
of last year's 'IdolBreakers.'
Perhaps you will show me one or two of your average articles,
said Mr. Bircham, and, while Erica searched through the bundle of
papers, he took up one of the copies which she had put aside, and
studied the outside page critically. 'The IdolBreaker:' Advocate
of Freethought and Secularism. Edited by Luke Raeburn.
They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.
Mr. Bircham put it down and began to watch her attentively. She
was absorbed in her search, and was quite unconscious of his
scrutiny. Even had she noticed him, she would not have understood
what was passing in his mind. His little gray eyes grew bright;
then he pushed back his wig impatiently; then he cleared his
throat; finally he took snuff, sneezed violently, and walked to the
window. When he returned he was even more dry and formal than

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