ee men.

"I've got a couple of rules myself," he cried, "and don't you
forget it. When you get a little spare time, you look up St. Louis
and find out what state it's in. The slogan of that state is my
slogan, you bet. If you think I'm going to make you a present of
the money that it took my old man fifty years to pile up, then you
don't know that Griebler is a German name. Good day, gents."

He stalked to the door. There he turned dramatically and leveled a
forefinger at Jock. "They've got you roped and tied. But I think
you're a comer. If you change your mind, kid, come and see me."

The door slammed behind him.

"Whew!" whistled Sam Hupp, passing a handkerchief over his bald
spot.

Bartholomew Berg reached out with one great capable hand and swept
toward him a pile of papers. "Oh, well, you can't blame him.
Advertising has been a scream for so long. Griebler doesn't know
the difference between advertising, publicity, and bunk. He'll
learn. But it'll be an awfully expensive course. Now, Hupp, let's
go over this Kalamazoo account. That'll be all, McChesney."

Jock turned without a word. He walked quickly through the outer
office, into the great main room. There he stopped at the
switchboard.

"Er--Miss Grimes," he said, smiling charmingly. "Where's this Mr.
Griebler, of St. Louis, stopping; do you know?"

"Say, where would he stop?" retorted the wise Miss Grimes. "Look
at him! The Waldorf, of course."

"Thanks," said Jock, still smiling. And went back to his desk.

At five Jock left the office. Under his arm he carried the flat
pasteboard package secured by elastic bands. At five-fifteen he
walked swiftly down the famous corridor of the great red stone
hotel. The colorful glittering crowd that surged all about him he
seemed not to see. He made straight for the main desk with its
battalion of clerks.

[Illustration: "He made straight for the main desk with its
battalion of clerks"]

"Mr. Griebler in? Mr. Ben Griebler, St. Louis?"

The question set in motion the hotel's elaborate system of
investigation. At last: "Not in."

"Do you know when he will be in?" That futile question.

"Can't say. He left no word. Do you want to leave your name?"

"N-no. Would he--does he stop at this desk when he comes in?"

He was an unusually urbane hotel clerk. "Why, usually they leave
their keys and get their mail from the floor clerk. But Mr.
Griebler seems to prefer the main desk."

"I'll--wait," said Jock.