ines, includin' a clothes closet and
a corner washbowl. There was a grand aggregation of two as an office
force. One was a young lady key pounder, with enough hair piled on top
of her head to stuff a mattress. The other was a long faced young feller
with an ostrich neck and a voice that sounded like a squeaky door.

"Go outside!" says he, wavin' his hands and puttin' on a weary look.
"Mr. Pepper can't see any of you until he has finished with the mail.
Now run along."

"I can't," says I; "my feet won't let me. Is that the Pepper box in
there?"

The door was open a foot or two; so I steps up to take a peek at the
main squeeze. And say, the minute I sees him I knew he'd do. He wa'n't
one of these dried up whiskered freaks, nor he wa'n't any human hog,
with no neck and three chins. He was the kind of a gent you see comin'
out of them swell cafes, and he looked like a winner, Mr. Belmont Pepper
did. His breakfast seemed to be settin' as well as his coat collar, and
you could tell with one eye that he wouldn't come snoopin' around early
in the day, nor hang around the shop after five. Pepper has his heels up
on the rolltop, burnin' a real Havana. That's the kind of a boss I
likes. I lays out to connect, too.

"Say," says I to the long faced duck, "you hold your breath a minute and
I'll be back!"

Then I steps outside, yanks the "Boy Wanted" sign off the nail, and says
to the crowd good and brisk, just as though I come direct from
headquarters:

"It's all over, kids, and unless you're waitin' to have a group picture
taken you'd better hit the elevator."

Wow! There was call for another sudden move just then. I was lookin' for
that, though, and by the time the first two of 'em struck the door I was
on the other side with the key turned. Riot? Well say, you'd thought I'd
pinched the only job in New York! They kicked on the door and yelled
through the transom and got themselves all worked up.

The lady key pounder grabs hold of both sides of her table and almost
swallows her tuttifrutti, the ostrich necked chap turns pea green, and
Mr. Pepper swings his door open and sings out, real cheerful:

"Mr. Sweetwater, can't you get yourself mobbed without being so noisy
about it? What's up, anyway?"

But Sweetwater wasn't a lightnin' calculator. He stands there with his
mouth open, gawpin' at me, and tryin' to figure out what's broke loose;
so I pushes to the front and helps him out.

"There's a bunch of also rans out ther