r one, and I guess the boss didn't; for the last office
we passes through was where the gray-haired gent camped watchful behind
the brass gratin'.

"Well, wouldn't that crimp you?" I remarks, givin' him the passin' grin.
"Our old friend Ananias, ain't it?"

And he never bats an eyelash.

But Gedney wa'n't in that class. Before closin' time up comes a
secretary with the lease all signed. I was in the boss's room when it's
delivered.

"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "You don't need any more mud baths, I guess."

All the rise that gets out of him is a flicker in the mouth corners.
"Young man," says he, "whose idea was it, taking you off the gate?"

"Mr. Robert's," says I.

"I am glad to learn," says he, "that Robert had occasional lapses into
sanity while I was away. What about your salary? Any ambitions in that
direction?"

"I only want what I'm worth," says I.

"Oh, be reasonable, Son," says he. "We must save something for the
stockholders, you know. Suppose we double what you're getting now? Will
that do?"

And the grin I carries out is that broad I has to go sideways through
the door.

CHAPTER V

SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY

I got to say this about Son-in-Law Ferdie: He's a help! Not constant,
you know; for there's times when it seems like his whole scheme of
usefulness was in providin' something to hang a pair of shell-rimmed
glasses on, and givin' Marjorie Ellins the right to change her name. But
outside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of the
fam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then.

Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he's
driftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round,
bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floor
detective.

"What ho, Ferdie!" I sings out, grabbin' him by the elbow and swingin'
him out of the line of traffic. "This ain't no place to practice the
maxixe."

"I--I beg--oh, it's you, Torchy, is it?" says he, sighin' relieved.
"Where do I go to send a telegram?"

"Why," says I, "you might try the barber shop and file it with the
brush boy, or you could wish it on the candy-counter queen over there
and see what would happen; but the simple way would be to step around to
the W. U. T. window, by the north exit, and shove it at Gladys."

"Ah, thanks," says he, "North exit, did you say? Let's see, that
is--er----"

"'Bout face!" says I, takin' him in tow. "Now guide right