ked, quite disregarding the
presence of Miss Maitland in the background. "What kind of a fairy story
are you trying to put across on me? I suppose you're claiming that
Pendleton, the automobile man, is your brother-in-law. Well, he moved
out about a month ago. The card hasn't been changed yet, but the firm in
there now is a bunch of Kikes that make boys' pants--Lipper, Loeb, and
Kahn. I saw their sign when I went up to get this order from
Warbalowsky. Which of them did your sister marry?"

Mr. Cuyler was momentarily discomfited, but his presence of mind almost
immediately returned.

"All three," he said calmly to his excited adversary. "All three. You
just saw the sign, you say. You didn't meet any of them personally, did
you? Well, you couldn't have."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked the astonished placer, pausing in the act
of lighting a fresh cigarette.

"Why, Phil," said Mr. Cuyler, kindly, "my sister married a man named
Reginald Whitney. His name isn't his fault. And he is a manufacturer of
boys' pants. Now, Phil, you understand local conditions as well as
nearly any one I know, and I ask you: What chance of success would a
boys' pants manufacturer named Reginald Whitney have? Absolutely none.
He therefore operates under the name of Lipper, Loeb, and Kahn, and I
don't mind saying he is doing very well, but I hope he won't stay long in
that building, for some of that bunch of crooks under him--I don't mean
Warbalowsky, you understand--will probably touch off the place some night
and leave him with a total loss and only forty per cent insurance to
value."

While this controversy was going on, Smith, watching his companion
shrewdly, saw the light of real interest for the first time dawn in her
eye. And when Cuyler finished, she laughed outright, and the two
returned to the elevator the better for one shared amusement.

"I suppose Mr. Cuyler was--embroidering the truth a little?" queried
Helen, comprehendingly.

"He never had a sister in his life!" nodded her escort, cheerfully.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Smith," Helen said as they regained the top floor, "that
I don't really understand the first principles of fire insurance well
enough to appreciate what you have shown me. It's a humiliating
admission, but I must make it. I don't believe you began near enough the
bottom--with the elementary, one-syllable things."

The underwriter surveyed her thoughtfully but with covert approval. Wary
though he was