' in a shoulder shrug just to hint that there wa'n't any use in
his tryin' to get in a word until they was all through. He almost acts
like he enjoyed being mobbed; but of course he knew better'n to choke
off a lot of women before they'd had their say out. He just let 'em jaw
along and get it out of their systems. Fin'lly he raises his hand, takes
off the green lid, and bows graceful.

"Ladies," says he, "I fully sympathize with your impatience--fully."

"You look it, I don't think!" sings out a big blonde, shakin' her willow
plumes energetic.

Mr. Pepper throws her a smile and spiels ahead. "You will be pleased to
hear, however," says he, "that the board of directors, on the strength
of cabled advices from our general manager in Peru, has just voted an
extra dividend of ten per cent."

"When do we get it? Show us some money!" howls the kickers.

"I have been requested to announce," goes on Mr. Pepper, "that payments
from this office will be resumed promptly at noon--on the first day of
next month."

Does that satisfy 'em? Not so you'd notice it. A bigger squawk than ever
goes up, and the jam around Mr. Pepper begins to look like rush hour at
the Hudson Terminal. They starts clawin' at his elbows, and grabbin' his
coat, and when I notices one wild-eyed brunette reachin' for a hatpin I
knew it was a case of me to the rescue or sendin' in an ambulance call.

Not that I had any notion what ought to be done in a case like this. I
couldn't throw him a rope or shove out a plank; I ain't any expert woman
trainer, either; but can I stand there with my mouth open and see an old
friend get the hooks thrown into him by a class in hysterics? Not when
the hookee happens to be one that once set me up as a stockholder in a
gold mine. So I lets flicker with the first fool idea that comes into my
head.

"Gangway!" I shouts out, wedgin' my way in among 'em and usin' my
elbows. "Gangway for the bank messenger! Ah, don't shove, girls; he
ain't the only man left in New York. One side for the real money
bringer! One side now!" And by holdin' the leather case high up where
they could all see it, and hittin' the line like Coy does when it's
three downs with ten yards to go, I manages to get through without
losin' many coat buttons.

"Here you are, sir," says I, shovin' the case out to Mr. Pepper and
givin' him the knowin' look. "City National. Cashier wants a receipt."

Does he need a diagram and a card of instructions? Trust Belmon