ice boy demanded.

"No, but I fancy that Mr. Griffin will see me," said Prale. "I used to
work for him years ago."

Then he sat down to wait. Griffin would be glad to see him, he thought.
Griffin was a man who always liked to see younger men get along. He
would want to know how Sidney Prale got his million. He would want to
take him to luncheon and exhibit him to his friends--tell how one of his
young men had forged ahead in the world.

The boy came back with his card. "Mr. Griffin can't see you," he
announced.

"Oh, he's busy, eh? Did he make an appointment?"

"No, he ain't busy," said the boy. "He's got his feet set up on the desk
and he's readin' about yesterday's ball game. He said to say that he
didn't have time to see you this mornin', and that he wouldn't ever have
time to see you."

"Don't be discourteous, you young imp!" Prale said, his face flushing.
"You're sure you handed Mr. Griffin my card?"

"Oh, I handed it to him--and don't you try to run any bluff on me!" the
boy answered. "From the way the boss acted, I guess you don't stand very
high with him!"

The boy went back to his chair, and Sidney Prale went from the office, a
puzzled and angry man. There probably was some mistake, he told himself.
He'd meet Griffin during the day and tell him about the adventure.

He was anxious to meet some of the men with whom he had worked ten years
before, but he did not know where to find them. He'd have to wait and
ask Griffin what had become of them. Then, too, he wanted to transfer
his funds.

Prale got another taxicab and started making the rounds of the banks he
knew to be solid institutions. Within a few hours he had made
arrangements to transfer the account, using four financial institutions.
He said nothing, except that the money had been transferred to the trust
company from Honduras, because the company had a correspondent there.

His funds secure, Prale went back uptown and to the hotel. The clerk
handed him a note with his key. Prale tore it open after he stepped into
the elevator. This time it was a sheet of paper upon which a message had
been typewritten.

"You can't dodge the law of compensation. For what you have done, you
must pay."

Sidney Prale gasped when he read that message, and went back to the
ground floor.

"Who left this note for me?" he demanded of the clerk.

"Messenger boy."

"You don't know where he came from?"

"No, sir."

Prale turned away and started for the eleva