they comes and lugs off all the desks and
things and makes me give up the keys.

Say, it was a tough deal, all right. It was some jay that stirred up all
the muss, howlin' for his coin that he thought he'd lost. But look at
the hole I'm in, after bein' so brash to Mr. Pepper about stayin' on the
lid, and him lettin' me write my own valuation ticket! How do I square
it with him when he comes back and finds I've stood around and seen him
closed out?

Old Velvet Foot, the deputy, says if the boss comes back at all he'll be
wearin' a diff'rent face and flaggin' under another name. But I know
better. He's as square as a pavin' block. If he wa'n't, why was he
distributin' Glory Be stocks among fool outsiders, instead of keepin' it
in the fam'ly?

"Ah, brush your belfry!" says I. "Your mind needs chloride of lime on
it."

But say, shareholder or not, I've got to plug the market for somethin'
that'll pass with the landlady. I've been livin' on crullers and coffee
for two days now, and that starter guy says if I don't quit hangin'
around the arcade he'll have me pinched. I've wrote out a note to leave
for Mr. Pepper, and I guess it's up to me to frisk another job.

You don't know where they want a near-plute as temp'rary office boy, do
you?

CHAPTER II

A JOLT FOR PIDDIE

It's a case of "comin' up, up" with me. Sure as ever! Ain't I got stock
in a gold mine? And now I'm in with the Corrugated Trust. Why, say, two
moves more and I'll be first vice-president. There's only his door, and
the general manager's, and then me.

I'm behind the brass rail, next to the spring water. When you have the
front to push through the plate glass, you see me first. If I likes your
looks, and your card reads right, maybe I gives you a peek at Mr.
Piddie. Anyone that gets past Piddie's a bird. He's the Inside Brother,
Keeper of the Seal, Watch on the Rhine, and a lot more. He draws down
salary for bein' confidential secretary to the G. M.; but Con. Sec.
don't half cover it. He keeps the run of everything, from what the last
quarterly dividend was down to how many tubs of pins is used by the
office force every month.

I'd never made good with Piddie in a month of Yom Kippurs if it hadn't
been for Old Heavyweight, the main squeeze. Piddie had ten of us lined
up for the elimination test, and was puttin' us through the catechism
and the civil service, when in pads Mr. Ellins--you know, Hickory
Ellins. Ever see our V. P.? Say, he us