as he followed the boy through the main office, where
all of the bookkeepers were at work, toward the little office in the
rear.

"Ah, this is indeed comfortable," he exclaimed, flinging himself into a
luxurious leather armchair. "Throw the coat down anywhere, and go," he
said, as the boy stood before him awaiting his dismissal.

"Great Scott! What an elegant nest Lester got himself into!" he
ejaculated, looking about him. "I can enjoy it far better than he could,
though I don't expect to be cooped up here more than an hour or two a
day. Those fellows out there in the outer office are paid to do the
work, and I'll be hanged if they shan't do it--every bit of it. I'll
break 'em in my way, and they'll think it's new rules. By George!
they'll find plenty of new rules. Ha! ha! ha! I suppose I'd better be
opening that desk."

Feeling in his pocket, he drew forth the bunch of keys which he had
taken by force from his cousin. One by one he fitted each to the lock,
but none of them seemed to work.

"Confound the thing!" he muttered. "My patience won't last much longer.
Then I'll stave it in with my heel.

"Hello, there!" he cried, as, hearing a slight noise behind him, he
wheeled around and found an elderly man, with a pen behind his ear, and
a sheet of paper in his hand, standing there.

"Why the deuce didn't you knock?" he cried, angrily and flushing hotly,
for he realized this man must have witnessed his vain attempts to open
the desk. "What do you want?" he asked sharply and ill-humoredly.

Mr. Conway, the old cashier--for it was he--was looking at him with
dilated, amazed eyes; but in a moment he recovered himself.

"You said to come into your office quite as soon as you came this
morning, as you wished to see me on particular business, Mr. Armstrong,"
he replied in the low voice habitual with him.

For an instant the bogus Lester Armstrong's brows were knit closely
together; then he said, coolly, sharply: "I've changed my mind; I don't
want to see you."

Still the man lingered.

"Pardon me," he said. "I thought probably it might be in regard to those
notes of Jordan & Beckwith which you were considering negotiating for."

"Well, you'll have to think again," exclaimed the other, tartly.

Mr. Conway turned toward the door, but as he stretched out his hand to
grasp the knob his employer sang out, sharply:

"Hold on, there! Come here and see if you can do anything with this
confounded desk. It's got the jim-j