"Just about, my son."
"And during that time I have never kicked on an assignment or asked for any particular job."
"Yes; if I recollect rightly, that is about the size of it," remarks Ricker dryly. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"I should like the assignment of war correspondent at Havana."
The city editor is silent for a moment.
"I am sorry you did not speak of this Havana business before," he says, encircling the pastepot with a ring of smoke. "Unfortunately I have mapped out two or three months' work for you at a place a good many miles from the capital of Cuba."
Ashley's face does not reveal the disappointment he feels.
"All right, Mr. Ricker, I have no kick coming. I will break another one of my rules and ask what the assignment is before I have been notified of it."
"It is an important mission, my son, and the selection of the man to fill the place does not come within my department. But as a good man was needed I urged the desirability of putting you on the job."
"You are very kind," murmurs Ashley.
"I intended to communicate to you his wishes to-night," resumes Ricker. "In fact, I received the assignment for you an hour ago and you would have found it in your box in the morning." The city editor tosses over a yellow envelope and Ashley finds therein the brief notification:
"Beginning March 18, Mr. Ashley will enter upon the duties as war correspondent at Santiago de Cuba."
Ashley looks up and catches the indulgent smile of his chief.
"Ricker, you're a jewel," he says, warmly, extending his hand. The friendship between the two men has long since leveled the wall of official dignity.
"I had no idea you wanted the job," smiles the city editor.
"Until to-day I had no desire to visit Cuba," replies
