d a click at the other end showed that Mrs.
Ellicott had hung up the receiver, leaving him to shriek "But listen--"
pitiably into the little black mouthpiece in front of him until Central
cut in on him angrily with "Say, whatcha tryin' to do, fella? Break my
ear?"

XXIII

After cindery hours in a day coach--the fine and the loss of his Pullman
reservation have left him with less than three dollars in cash--Oliver
crawls into Vanamee and Company's about four in the afternoon. Everybody
but Mrs. Wimple and Mr. Tickler is out of Copy for the moment and the
former greets him with coy wit.

"Been taking your vacation at Newport, Crowie? Or didja sneak the Frisco
account away from Brugger's Service when you were out West?"

"Oh, no, got jugged--that was all," says Oliver quite truthfully if
tiredly and Mrs. Wimple crows at the jest with high laughter. Oliver
marvels at the fact that everybody should seem to think it so humorous
to be jailed.

"Why, Crowie, you naughty little boy! Oh mischief, mischief!" and she
scrapes one index finger over the other at him in a try for errant
childishness. Then she and her perfume come closer and this time she
looks around before she speaks and there is some little real concern in
her voice.

"Listen, Crowie--you better watch your step, boy--I'm telling
you straight. Old Man Alley was real sore when you didn't blow in
yesterday--it was one of Vanamee's bad days when his eye gets twitchy
and he was rearing around cursing everybody out and giving an oration
on office discipline that'd a made a goat go laugh itself ill. And then
Alley got hold of Delier and they are both talking about you--I know
because Delier said 'Oh give him another chance' and Alley said 'What's
the use, Deller--he's been here eight months and he doesn't seem to
really get the hang of things,' in that snippy little way and then 'I
can't stand breaches of discipline like this.' You know how nervous
it gets him if as much as a fastener is out of place on his desk--and
Winslow's got a kid cousin he wants to put in here and if you don't act
like mama's darling for a while--"

She is ready to go on indefinitely, but Oliver thanks her
abstractedly--it is decent of the old girl after all--grunts "Guess I
better start in looking busy now, Mrs. Wimple!" and sits down at his
desk.

A note from Deller with five pencil sketches attached of the new trade
figures for Brittlekin--two bloated looking children with inkblot