betrayed no
consciousness of the enormity of his crime, and had, indeed, spent the
morning at the Polo Grounds, chatting with various members of the
Giants, with which team he is a great favourite."

Let them bring their gyves. Let the barred door clang shut!

"Office!" he said to Paul. There was no doubt in Paul's mind as to the
quality of his patron. He had at once recognized the Greatest Pitcher.
He ceased to speculate as to whether this assured young man owned the
high office-building. That was now of minor consequence.

On the way downtown he tried to remember what day it was. He thought it
was Friday, but again it seemed to be Monday. He stopped the car and
bought an afternoon paper to find out.

At the entrance to the big office-building he debated a moment.

"Wait!" he directed Paul.

He was uncertain how long he might be permitted to remain in that
building. If he must go to jail, he would ride. He wondered if Paul knew
the address of the best jail. He could have things sent in to
him--magazines and fruit.

Inside the entrance he paused before the cigar-stand. He must think
carefully what he would say to those men of round millions. He must keep
up his front. His glance roamed to the beautifully illustrated boxes of
cigars. A good idea!

"Gimme one those," he said to the clerk, indicating a box that flaunted
the polychrome portrait of a distinguished-looking Spaniard. He was
surprised at the price, but he bit the tip off violently and began to
mouth it.

"I'm no penny-pincher," he muttered, thinking of the cigar's cost. He
tilted the cigar to a fearless angle and slanted his hat over his left
eye. He lolled against the cigar-case, gathering resolution for the
ordeal.

The door of an elevator down the corridor shot open, and there emerged,
in single file, a procession, headed by the little oldest director, who
had allowed him to go free overnight. They marched toward the door,
looking straight ahead. They must pass in front of him. He felt a sudden
great relief. Something in their bearing told him they were powerless to
restrict his liberty.

The oldest director deigned him no glance, but snorted accurately in his
direction, nevertheless. The quiet one grinned faintly at him, but the
two neutral directors passed him loftily, as if they were Virtue
scorning Vice in a morality play. The largest director frowned at the
stripling who was savagely chewing a fifty-cent cigar at the procession.

The mom