"You know as well as I do, Simon. He has been with us for years, saved
a fair bit of money, and he is hoping that some day we will see our way
to giving him an interest in the business. A laudable ambition for any
employee who wants to get on in the world. Even you can't criticize
that!"

"Umph." Varr did not seem to think it necessary to express his views
on ambition, but appeared to be reflecting on the news Jason had just
given him. "The Thibault people, eh? In Rochester!" He raised one
hand and caressed his chin softly. "So if I throw him out of here he
will go to Rochester--taking that girl with him! Have you ever
noticed--" He broke off abruptly, leaned forward and threw his voice
into the outer office. "_Hello_! Is that you, Langhorn? What do
_you_ want?"

They had failed to hear the approach of a thin, middle-aged man who had
come halfway across the main room from the head of the stairs before
Varr had chanced to see him. He came the rest of the way now, and the
fact that he stooped a little when walking lent him an odd air of
furtiveness, which was somehow borne out by his narrow face, weak,
irresolute chin and restless eyes. He was one of the clerks whom Varr
had summarily suspended from the payroll, and there was anxiety in the
gaze that shifted from one partner to another as he paused respectfully
in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Varr! Good afternoon, Mr. Bolt!"

"What do you want?" demanded Varr curtly, though a cruel light in his
eye made it apparent that he knew the answer.

"Things are very hard, sir--"

"And you come to me for help? The more fool you! I have made it plain
that not a single employee of this concern shall draw a dollar of
salary until those ungrateful pups who have struck come back to work on
my terms. Go tell _them_ your troubles! Tell 'em for me, too, that
their time is getting short. I'm making inquiries already with a view
to getting men to take their places."

"I wasn't just thinking of work in the office, sir. If you had
something for me on the outside--something up at your house, perhaps--"

"I have nothing. Good day!"

The man waited a fraction of a second, his eyes mutely questioning
Jason Bolt, who negatived their appeal by an almost imperceptible shake
of his head. Slowly, the man withdrew.

"A sneaking hound!" Varr did not lower his voice, indifferent to
whether the retreating clerk learned his opinion of him or not. "I
have never