ent was incontestably the stripling's. He was cool and meant to
take the fullest advantage of it. He meant to say, contemptuously, "I
can imagine nothing of less consequence!"

But the officious cigar-clerk held a lighted match to the choice cigar
and the magnificent defiance was smothered by a cough. He was obliged to
content himself with glaring at the expansive and well-rounded back of
the biggest director.

He was alone on the field, pretending enjoyment of a cigar which was now
lighted and loathsome.

Bulger entered from the street and viewed him with friendly alarm.

"Say, where you been?" demanded Bulger. "Old Pussy-foot's got a sore
thumb right now from pounding that buzzer of yours all morning. He's hot
at every one. I heard him call Tully a slinking something or other;
couldn't get the word, but Tully got it. Say, you better get
busy--regular old George W. Busy--if you want to hold that job."

"Job!" laughed Bean bitterly, and waved the expensive and lighted cigar
in Bulger's face. "Job! Well, I may get busy, and then again I may not.
All depends!"

"Gee!" said Bulger, profoundly moved by this admirable spirit of
insubordination. "Well, I got to get back; I'm five minutes late
myself."

Bean waited until he had gone. Then he strolled out to the street and
furtively dropped an excellent and but slightly burned cigar into the
gutter. He wished those fellows at cigar-stands would do only what they
were put there for. Taking liberties with people!

He decided to go back as if nothing had happened. Let Breede do the
talking, and if he talked rough, then tell him very simply that nothing
of less consequence could be imagined. Continue to play the waiting
game. That was it!

He entered the office, humming lightly. He seemed to be annoyed by the
people he found there. He glared at Bulger, at old Metzeger, at the
other clerks, and especially at Tully. Tully looked uncomfortable. He
wasn't a gazelle after all. He was a startled fawn.

"Telephone for--" began the office boy humourist, but Bean was out of
hearing in the direction of the telephone booth before the latest _mot_
could be delivered.

"Been trying to get you all the morning," began the flapper in eager
tones. "I should think you would stay there, when I may have to call you
any minute. That grocer gave me the nicest little book, 'Why Did Your
Husband Fail in Business?' with a picture of the poor man that failed on
the cover. It's because he didn'