et I see!" said Quin sympathetically as he hurried out to inform
the senior member of the firm that the junior member awaited his
pleasure.

What happened at that interview was recounted to him by Miss Leaks, the
little drab-colored stenographer, who had returned from lunch when the
storm was at its height.

"It's a wonder Mr. Ranny don't kill that old man for the way he sneers at
him," she said indignantly to Quin, "Why, _I_ wouldn't take off him what
Mr. Ranny does! But then, what can he do? His mother keeps him here for a
mouth-piece for her, and Mr. Bangs knows it. It's no wonder he drinks,
hitched up to a cantankerous old hyena like that. He never can stand up
for himself, but he stood up for you all right."

"For me?" repeated Quin. "Where did I come in?"

"Why, he said it was a shame for a man like you to be doing the work you
are doing, and that he for one wouldn't stand it. He talked right up to
the boss about patriotism and our duty to the returned soldier, until he
made the old tyrant look like ten cents! And then he come right out and
said if Mr. Bangs couldn't offer you anything better he could."

"What did he say to that?" asked Quin.

"He curled up his lip and asked Mr. Ranny why he didn't engage you for a
private secretary, and if you'll believe me Mr. Ranny looked him straight
in the eye and said it was a good idea, and that he would."

"A private secretary!" Quin exclaimed. "But I don't know a blooming thing
about stenography or typewriting."

"Don't you let on," advised Miss Leaks. "Mr. Ranny doesn't have enough
work to amount to anything, and he's so tickled at carrying his point
that he won't be particular. I can teach you how to take dictation and
use the typewriter."

The following week found Quin installed in the smaller of the two private
offices, with a title that in no way covered the duties he was called
upon to perform. To be sure, he got Mr. Ranny's small affairs into
systematic running order, and, under Miss Leaks's efficient instruction,
was soon able slowly but accurately to hammer out the necessary letters
on the typewriter. He was even able at times to help Mr. Chester, the
melancholy bookkeeper whom the other clerks called "Fanny."

Through working with figures all his life Mr. Chester had come to
resemble one. With his lean body and drooping oval head, he was not
unlike the figure nine, an analogy that might be continued by saying that
nine is the highest degree a bachelor