could get down again to-morrow?" Henry asked.

"I don't know, Henry; but if lies could get me here I guess I could,"
Sam replied. "Because, the way my children fixes me lately, I am
beginning to be such a liar that you could really say I am an expert."

* * * * *

Ten minutes later Sam Gembitz walked into the elevator of his late
place of business and smiled affably at the elevator boy, who returned
his greeting with a perfunctory nod.

"Well, what's new around here, Louis?" Sam asked.

"I dunno, Mr. Gembitz," the elevator boy said. "I am only just coming
back from my lunch."

"I mean what happens since I am going away, Louis?" Sam continued.

"I didn't know you went away at all, Mr. Gembitz," the elevator boy
replied.

"_Dummer Esel!_" Sam exclaimed. "Don't you know I was sick and I am
going away from here _schon_ three months ago pretty near?"

The elevator boy stopped the car at Gembitz Brothers' floor and spat
deliberately.

"In the building is twenty tenants, Mr. Gembitz," he said, "and the way
them fellers is sitting up all hours of the night, shikkering and
gambling, if I would keep track which of 'em is sick and which ain't
sick, Mr. Gembitz, I wouldn't got no time to run the elevator at all."

If the elevator boy's indifference made Sam waver in the belief that he
was sorely missed downtown the appearance of his late showroom
convinced him of his mistake. The yellow-pine fixtures had disappeared,
and in place of his old walnut table there had been installed three
rolltop desks of the latest Wall Street design.

At the largest of these sat Max, who wheeled about suddenly as his
father entered.

"What are you doing down here?" he demanded savagely.

"Ain't I got no right in my own business at all?" Sam asked mildly.

"Sidney!" Max cried, and in response his youngest brother appeared.

"Put on your hat and take the old man home," he said.

"One minute, Sidney," Sam said. "In the first place, Max, before we
talk about going home, I want to ask you a question: How much does
Falkstatter, Fein & Company owe us?"

"Us?" Max repeated.

"Well--you?" Sam replied.

"What's that your business?" Max retorted.

"What is that my business?" Sam gasped. "A question! Did you ever hear
the like, Sidney? He asks me what it is my business supposing
Falkstatter, Fein & Company owes us a whole lot of money! Ain't that a
fine way to talk, Sidney?"

Sidney's pasty fac