he, and not Christopher, were responsible for the informality of it.

"We imagined from Mr. Saunderson's letter you would arrive by the
12.30 from town. I had ventured to order lunch for you here on that
understanding," the head clerk explained deferentially. "What will you
like to do first, sir?"

"I wish to go into the inner office and for you to carry on the usual
routine precisely as in my father's time."

There was no hesitation over the term now.

"Bring me such letters and reports as you would bring him. I must find
out for myself how much or how little of it I am capable of
understanding."

"It will be a question of practice rather than of understanding with
you, sir, I am confident," returned Mr. Clisson politely, turning over
in his mind what business it would be least embarrassing to submit to
this decided young man.

"It will be your business to see I get the practice," Christopher
answered.

Together they unlocked the door of Peter Masters' sanctum and the head
clerk flung it open.

"It is precisely as he left it that day. Nothing has been done
excepting the sorting of the papers, which Mr. Saunderson and myself
did between us. The last time Mr. Saunderson was here we had it
cleaned out. You will find the bells and telephones all labelled. If
you will wait a few minutes I will send a man in with ink and writing
material, and the keys, and I will bring you this morning's letters
myself."

Christopher thanked him mechanically and entered the room. He stood in
the window silently waiting, while a young clerk trembling with
excitement performed the small services necessary, and asked
nervously if he could do more.

"Nothing else now. What is your name?"

He gave it with faltering tongue. In the old days such an inquiry was
a distinction hardly earned.

Christopher was alone at last. He walked slowly across the room and
sat down in his father's chair and touched the big bunch of keys laid
there on the table before him.

An overwhelming desire for some direct message from the dead man, some
defined recognition of his right to be there at all, pressed on him.
He opened the drawers and pigeon-holes of the great table with a faint
hope he might light on some overlooked note, or uncomplete memorandum
addressed to him. Mr. Saunderson had assured him no such thing existed
beyond the curt exact clue he had put in his hand four years ago when
the old will had been destroyed.

He glanced at the neat do