s Masters coming from the inner office.
He was impressed by the attractiveness of her dress.

"Where does she get all the glad rags?" he demanded of himself. "Maybe
old Boland--"

"Who's a little fool?" persisted Miss Masters.

"Nobody," returned Druce. "Just talking to myself. Mr. Boland's out or
busy, I suppose?"

"Yes, Mr. Boland's out," replied Miss Masters. She sat down at a
typewriter and inserted a sheet of paper in the machine. "He left a
message for you, however. He told me this morning that if you called I
should ask you to 'phone him about twelve o'clock. He'll try to see you
then for a moment."

"All right," said Druce, "thanks." But he made no move to go. He watched
the girl as she hammered the typewriter keys. Presently she looked up at
him inquiringly.

This to Druce appeared to be a direct offer to open a conversation. He
hastened to take advantage of it.

"Yes," he replied in his most ingratiating manner, drawing near her. "I
want to talk to you. I have been dying to speak to you alone, girlie--"

The girl rose from her chair and picked up her notebook.

"Oh, Mr. Druce," she said.

"Yes, girlie."

Miss Masters opened the notebook and took a lead pencil from the shining
rolls of her hair.

"I have to keep a record of all callers," said the girl unexpectedly.
"Mr. Boland is very particular about it. Let me see, your name is Martin
Druce?"

She wrote the name into her book and showed it to him.

"I have the name correctly, haven't I, Mr. Druce?" she went on.

"Rather tardy with your duties, aren't you?" inquired Druce with a smile.
"I've been coming here for some days now and you haven't wanted to put me
into your book before."

"Perhaps," replied the girl, "I haven't noticed you."

Druce was sure now that he was beginning a flirtation with her.

"And your business?" continued the girl.

"Oh, Boland knows my business," replied Druce, with an air of
carelessness.

"No doubt he does, but I don't. And how can I keep my records properly if
I don't know? I can't bother Mr. Boland with these details. What is your
business?"

"Why--ah--" hesitated Druce. "Live stock."

"What kind of live stock?" persisted Miss Masters, preparing to write
down his answer.

"Eh!" Druce began to feel that he was being badgered.

"What kind of live stock do you deal in?"

"See here," snarled Druce, "what are you trying to do?"

Miss Masters' answer was perfectly calm. "I am trying," she said, "to
f