tainly about her until her eyes rested on the sign, "Beware of
Pickpockets!" then she clutched her old leathern wallet, and with
frightened glances hurried inside. But here a second labyrinth opened
to her. A glass door led into a very spacious apartment, where a
number of men were counting money in little iron cages. She boldly
marched in and asked the nearest one, "Please, sir, is this Cornelius
McVeigh's office?" The man addressed stopped his counting and scowled
at her, but something in her wrinkled, serious face caused him to
relent of his churlishness.

"A moment, ma'am," he replied.

Next instant he was by her side, and very gallantly led her to the
outer hall and over to the elevator man. That Mecca of information
scratched his head before venturing to assist them, then he hazarded,
briskly, "Fifth floor, No. 682."

"If that's wrong, come back," the young man said, kindly, as he left
her.

The elevator drew her up almost before she could catch her breath, and
landed her on the fifth floor. The man pointed along a hallway, and
she followed this until a name in big gilt letters arrested her
attention and caused her heart to flutter spasmodically. "Cornelius
McVeigh--Investments," it read. And this was really her son's
Eldorado! A mist crept over her eyes as she turned the brass knob and
entered. A score of young men and women were before her, busily
engaged at desks, writing and sorting over papers. Beyond them, other
doors led to inner offices, and from some invisible quarter a peculiar
clicking cast a disturbing influence. Whilst she was taking it in, in
great sweeping glances, a small boy stepped saucily up and demanded her
wishes.

"I'm Mistress McVeigh, o' the Monk Road, an' I've come to see
Cornelius," she told him.

The boy looked at her, whistled over his shoulder and grimaced.

"What yer givin' us, missus?" he asked.

"I'll have ye understand I'll take no impudence," she retorted,
wrathfully, shaking her parasol handle at him.

"If yer wants the boss, he's out," he informed her, with more civility.

"Is there anything I can do?" a young lady asked, coming over to her
from her desk.

"It's just Mister McVeigh that I want to see. I'm his mother," Nancy
replied, simply.

"You are his mother!" the girl exclaimed, doubtfully.

"That I am," Nancy declared, emphatically.

"Mr. McVeigh is out of the city, but Mr. Keene is here. Will he do?"
she again questioned.

At this junctur