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the "incidents" that stand out from the dim, miserable smudge of fifteen months, is one that centres about a strange figure, and a most lovable fellow, named Angus Hamilton. Various odd fish drifted on to the paper as reporters, and drifted off again; they form part of an unimportant kaleidoscope. But Angus Hamilton, with his generosity, his startling habits, his undoubted ability, his sad and sudden end, stands out.

My position had improved since the publication of the Boyde story, chiefly, of course, because of the way the peerage had been dragged into its details and its headlines. I received no advance in salary, but I received an advance in respect. Even McCloy was different: "Why waste your time with us?" he spat at me like a machine-gun with a rapid smile. "Go home. Collect a lot of umbrellas and turned-up trousers and letters of introduction. Then come out to 'visit the States,' marry an heiress, and go home and live in comfort!" He was very lenient to my numerous mistakes. Other papers "got a beat" on me, I "fell down" times without number, I failed to get an interview with all and sundry because I could not find "the nerve" to intrude at certain moments into the lives and griefs of others. But McCloy winked the other eye, even if he never raised my pay. Other men were sacked out of hand. I stayed on. "You've got a pull with Mac!" said "Whitey." New men took the places of the lost. Among these I noticed an Englishman. Cooper noticed him too. "Better share an umbrella and go arm in arm," he said in his good-natured way. "He's a fellow-Britisher."

Why he came to New York I never understood. He Rh