see, I'd attended to all
the mornin' deliveries, sorted out what I knew had to be held over for
Mr. Robert, opened what was doubtful, and sent off a few answers
accordin' to orders. But, after all, he was the big boss. He had a right
to go through the motions if he wanted to. So I lugs in the mail, dumps
it in the tray, and leaves him with it.

Must have been half an hour later, and I was back at my own desk doping
out a schedule I'd promised to fix up for Mr. Robert, when I glances up
to find Old Hickory wanderin' around the room absent-minded. He's
starin' hard at a letter he holds in one paw. All of a sudden he
discovers me at the roll-top. For a second he scowls at me from under
the bushy eyebrows, and then comes the explosion.

"Boy!" he sings out. "What the hyphenated maledictions are you doing
there?"

Well, I broke it to him as gentle as I could.

"Promoted, eh?" he snorts. "To what?"

And I explains how I'm private secretary to the president of the Mutual
Funding Company.

"Never heard of such an organization," says he. "What is it, anyway?"

"Dummy concern mostly," says I, "faked up to stall off the I. C. C."

"Eh?" he gawps.

"Interstate Commerce Commission," says I. "We beat 'em to it, you know,
by dissolvin'--on paper. Had to have somebody to use the rubber stamp;
so they picked me off the gate."

"Humph!" he grunts. "So you're no longer an office boy, eh? But I had
you hopping around like one. How was that?"

"Guess I got a hop or two left in me," says I, "specially for you, Mr.
Ellins."

"Hah!" says he. "Also more or less blarney left on the tongue. Well,
young man, we'll see. As office boy you had your good points, I
remember; but as----" Then he breaks off and repeats, "We'll see, Son."
And he goes to studyin' the letter once more.

Fin'lly he sends for Piddie. They confabbed for a while, and as Piddie
comes out he's still explainin' how he's sure he don't know, but most
likely Mr. Robert understands all about it.

"Hang what Robert understands!" snaps Old Hickory. "He isn't here, is
he? And I want to know now. Torchy, come in here!"

"Yes, Sir," says I, scentin' trouble and salutin' respectful.

"What about these Universal people refusing to renew that Manistee
terminal lease?" he demands.

And if he'd asked how many feathers in a rooster's tail I'd been just as
full of information. But from what Piddie's drawn by declarin' an alibi,
it didn't look like that was my cue.

"Suppo