Some day would come that
great moment when the limelight of the world's wonder would centre on
him, and he would hold the stage alone.
But till its arrival he consoled himself with literature and found
vicarious enjoyment in the deeds of others. As long as his imagination
could grow lean in its search for treasure amid Alaskan snows, he
recked not if reality added an inch or two to his circumference.
While he could solve, in fancy, problems that had baffled the acutest
investigators, what matter if his tie-pin got mislaid?
And then came war to deposit romance and adventure upon our doorsteps.
Mr. Jones was agog with excitement.
Espionage, treachery in high places, the hidden hand--Mr. Jones read
about them all and shuddered with unholy joy. Perhaps he, an obscure
cashier--who could tell? Stranger things had happened.
Meanwhile he devoured all the spy literature he could find, for, as he
once remarked to himself, in dealing with such gentry you have to mind
your P's and QUEUX. It was his only joke.
His literary choice dictated by such considerations, Mr.
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