er entered the dingy lobby of the hotel than his eye
rested on his son, Copley, seated at a rickety writing table and
industriously scribbling on a pad of cheap paper. Varr strode across
to his side and addressed him curtly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Living here," returned the young man, glancing up but making no move
to rise. He met his father's angry glare coolly. "More convenient to
my job."

"Your job!" echoed Simon derisively. "What mental incompetent has
employed _you_?"

"Barlow, the editor of the _News_. I'm a reporter now."

"Humph. Why?"

"For ready money, naturally, until I can get something good."

"Am I to understand you have left my roof?"

"Absolutely. Left it last night, and returned for clothes and a few
personal belongings this morning. You piled it on a bit thick last
evening--too thick. I've quit."

"Saved me the trouble of throwing you out!" said Simon between his
teeth. "What did you tell your mother?"

"The truth. I didn't intend to, but I found Aunt Ocky had overheard
our little chat and had told her we'd had a holy row. Sorry."

"Blast your Aunt Ocky!"

That did not seem to call for a reply and Copley made none. After a
few seconds of silence he raised his pencil suggestively.

"Speaking as a prominent citizen, Mr. Varr, what have you to say
regarding the opening of the new sewer in State Street?"

"Nothing--except that I hope you'll fall into it!" said his father with
asperity, and walked away.

Copley wrote an item on another sheet of paper. "Among those lunching
at the Hambleton Hotel yesterday was Mr. Simon Varr, of the Varr-Bolt
Tanneries. He did not tip the waiter." He cocked his head at a
critical angle and contemplated the last six words before reluctantly
obliterating them. Discretion must be his watchword, he told himself,
and a job is better than a jest.

Simon finished his meal and returned to the office, noticing already
the premonitory symptoms of the mild indigestion that habitually
followed the greasy cooking of the hotel chef. He found his insurance
man waiting for him and spent two tedious hours over an inventory and
proofs of loss before he could rid himself of the fellow--and sped his
going with a curse because the broker warned him the insurance company
would certainly cancel their existing policies if they got wind of an
incendiary.

That reminded Simon of the footprints in the tannery yard which he had
wished to examine by dayli