pleasantry, and straightened her thin shoulders under her mantle.

The door of the office stood open, and within sat a gray-bearded man at
a desk. He looked up kindly, and again she asked for Mr. Loomis.

"I'm Mr. Loomis. What can I do for you?"

He was much less portentous than the others, though she guessed him
to be above them in authority; and encouraged by his tone she seated
herself on the edge of the chair he waved her to.

"I hope you'll excuse my troubling you, sir. I came to ask if you could
tell me anything about Mr. Herman Ramy. He was employed here in the
clock-department two or three years ago."

Mr. Loomis showed no recognition of the name.

"Ramy? When was he discharged?"

"I don't har'ly know. He was very sick, and when he got well his place
had been filled. He married my sister last October and they went to St.
Louis, I ain't had any news of them for over two months, and she's my
only sister, and I'm most crazy worrying about her."

"I see." Mr. Loomis reflected. "In what capacity was Ramy employed
here?" he asked after a moment.

"He--he told us that he was one of the heads of the clock-department,"
Ann Eliza stammered, overswept by a sudden doubt.

"That was probably a slight exaggeration. But I can tell you about him
by referring to our books. The name again?"

"Ramy--Herman Ramy."

There ensued a long silence, broken only by the flutter of leaves as
Mr. Loomis turned over his ledgers. Presently he looked up, keeping his
finger between the pages.

"Here it is--Herman Ramy. He was one of our ordinary workmen, and left
us three years and a half ago last June."

"On account of sickness?" Ann Eliza faltered.

Mr. Loomis appeared to hesitate; then he said: "I see no mention of
sickness." Ann Eliza felt his compassionate eyes on her again. "Perhaps
I'd better tell you the truth. He was discharged for drug-taking. A
capable workman, but we couldn't keep him straight. I'm sorry to have to
tell you this, but it seems fairer, since you say you're anxious about
your sister."

The polished sides of the office vanished from Ann Eliza's sight, and
the cackle of the innumerable clocks came to her like the yell of waves
in a storm. She tried to speak but could not; tried to get to her feet,
but the floor was gone.

"I'm very sorry," Mr. Loomis repeated, closing the ledger. "I remember
the man perfectly now. He used to disappear every now and then, and turn
up again in a state that made him usel