That evening the counselor was a caller at the home of Mr. Z —, whose entire life was passed in performing trifling services to such representatives of humanity as comprise Classes VII to III of the official hierarchy. In his desire to please, the counselor related to Mr. Z what the Countess had witnessed at the Orphanage and what she had heard from the representative of the religious sisterhood. He added his own contribution that—ah—yes—that—really, books ought to be provided for the orphans.
“Nothing is simpler!” cried Mr. Z. “To-morrow I am going to the office of the Courier and I’ll see to it that an announcement of the book needs of the Orphanage is published.”
The next day Mr. Z very excitedly rushed into the editorial rooms of the Courier, imploring in the name of all the saints that it print an appeal to the public to donate books to the orphans.
He arrived at an opportune moment, for the paper needed matter for a few sensati