ing were yet come out of their dressing-room, ready
to go down.

On the centre table stood three boxes of cigars and a great many
packages of cigarettes, while extra hairbrushes, whiskbrooms, and papers
of pins had been placed about the bureau.

As Vandover came in, he nodded pleasantly to such of the men as he knew,
and, after hiding his hat and coat under the bed, shook himself into his
clothes again and rearranged his dress tie.

The house was filling up rapidly; one heard the deadened roll of wheels
in the street outside, the banging of carriage doors, and an incessant
rustle of stiff skirts ascending the stairs. From the ladies'
dressing-room came an increasing soprano chatter, while downstairs the
orchestra around the piano in the back parlour began to snarl and whine
louder and louder. About the halls and stairs one caught brief glimpses
of white and blue opera cloaks edged with swan's-down alternating with
the gleam of a starched shirt bosom and the glint of a highly polished
silk hat. Odours of sachet and violets came and went elusively or
mingled with those of the roses and pinks. An air of gayety and
excitement began to spread throughout the house.

"Hello, old man!" "Hello, Van!" Charlie Geary, young Haight, and Ellis
came in together. "Hello, boys!" answered Vandover, hairbrush in hand,
turning about from the mirror, where he had been trying to make his hair
lie very flat and smooth.

"Look here," said Geary, showing him a dance-card already full, "I've
got every dance promised. I looked out for that at the last one of these
affairs; made all my arrangements and engagements then. Ah, you bet, I
don't get left on any dance. That's the way you want to rustle. Ah," he
went on, "had a bully sleep last night. I knew I was going to be out
late to-night, so I went to bed at nine; didn't wake up till seven. Had
a fine cutlet for breakfast."

It was precisely at this moment that Geary got his first advancement in
life. Mr. Beale, Jr., head clerk in the great firm of Beale & Story,
came up to him as he was drawing off his overcoat:

"How is Fischer?" asked Geary.

Beale, Jr., pulled him over into a corner, talking in a low voice. "He's
even worse than yesterday," he answered. "I think we shall have to give
him a vacation, and that's what I want to speak to you about. If you
can, Geary, I should like to have you take his place for a while, at
least until we get through with this contract case. I don't know ab