ritory, and if
he never made much money for the company, he never lost any. So much
for Edgar Wagstaff.

Before returning to the top floor, however, one character in Mr.
Wagstaff's entourage must be brought majestically forward into view.
This dignified personage was Jenkins, the clerk of the Pacific Coast
accounts. Mr. Jenkins was, in his youth, a mathematician of remarkable
promise. His dexterity with arithmetic and algebra was such that his
family began to think that could this ability at figures be translated
into terms of Wall Street there might be a Napoleon of finance bearing
the proud if somewhat homely name of Jenkins. But unfortunately it
seemed otherwise to the fates, for Mr. Jenkins, with advancing years,
found his Napoleonic onrush irresistibly diverted toward pleasant
byways frequented in the golden age by one Bacchus, god of wine.
Apparently the disinclination for the dusty road of duty had resulted
in much satisfaction and no lasting damage to Bacchus, but far
otherwise was it with Jenkins. He fared as conscientiously in
Bacchus's footsteps as he could, but his was not the true Bacchanalian
temperament. Under the influence of the grape Jenkins, instead of
becoming gay, waxed ever more portentous and sublime. When he was
almost sober, say of a Friday afternoon, he was grave, merely creating
the impression that some long-past tragedy had clouded his life. When
he was by way of being what one may denominate half-interested, his
face assumed the saturnine expression of an ancient misanthrope, but
when at last he reached the full flower of his magnificent endeavors,
the silent severity of his countenance became so forbidding and
sinister as to freeze the smile from the lips of a happy child. By his
face you might know him, but it would of necessity be by the face
alone, for so perfect was his control of his dominated limbs that never
a quiver betrayed him, and no degree of saturation seemed to affect at
all the impeccable footing of his columns.

A spiral staircase connected the seventh and eighth floors of the
Guardian building, constructed for the convenience of the clerks who
had to do with several departments. It was near the top of this
staircase that Smith had his desk, in the center of the maelstrom.
Smith strongly believed in being in the center of things, and from
where he sat he could overlook every foot of the space occupied by the
Eastern Department. As he was supervisor, he intended