he had taken
off his first summary of January results, a little cloud of puzzled
suspicion had gathered in his still blue eyes. After carefully
checking his own figures he had rung for Dunham, the chief accountant,
and it had been a querulous and angry summons.

"Here, dese figures is all wrong. You have January premiums pretty
near fifteen per cent behind last year. Fix 'em."

But Dunham, chill as the Matterhorn, assured the excited little man
that the figures were quite correct and that he had checked them twice
to make certain.

"But--but--" said Bartels in bewilderment, "we cannot be going
backwards like that! We have never gone back like that in January."

"Until this year," incautiously rejoined the other.

"No; nor this year, neither!" cried Mr. Bartels; and only his own
thrice repeated checking of the premium sheets would convince him.
Shaking a puzzled and resentful head, he at last sought his chief; with
a hang-dog air he handed over his statement, and with heavy heart he
waited for the President to speak.

Speech was longer than usual in coming.

"Not quite so good?" the President said at last.

"No," said Mr. Bartels. "Rates must be off, I guess?"

"No, Otto," returned Mr. Wintermuth, slowly. "It's not a rate war. It
is that we have had to give up some of our agencies in the East on
account of the Conference separation rule. I am afraid we shall have
to expect a certain decrease for a little while until things get
readjusted. But it won't last; you needn't worry about that."

Unfortunately, however, it did last; and not only that, but it became
more and more marked with each succeeding month. With the third
statement, when the greatest inroads had been made into the Guardian's
business, Mr. Bartels became like a living sepulcher. So heavy and sad
was the heart he carried in his breast that not all the consoling words
of his chief could stir him.

"I have seen agencies whose accounts I have passed for twenty years
fall away to almost nothing or nothing at all. From Silas Osgood I get
no March account; from Jones and Meers I get none. Every month for
fifteen years have I written Jones and Meers to correct their adding;
now I write them not at all." And there were many more.

Finally, when at last it dawned upon Mr. Bartels's Bavarian mind that
the Guardian was really in peril and that unless something were done
quickly, a large part of the remainder of the agents in the East would