t off hand, as if he was cartin' in a case of malted milk to a
foundling hospital. They do say it was some party Old Hickory gave 'em.

I expect if a lot of folks out in the church sociable belt knew of that
they'd put up a big howl. But what do they think? As I was tellin'
Vincent: "You can't run big business on grape juice." That is, not our
end of it. Oh, it's all right to keep the men in the plants down to one
and a half per cent stuff. Good for 'em. We got the statistics to prove
it. But when it comes to workin' up friendly relations with federal
agents you gotta uncork something with a kick to it. Uh-huh. What would
them Rubes have us do--say it with flowers? Or pass around silk socks,
or scented toilet soap?

And Vincent, for all his innocent big eyes and parlor manners, has come
to know the Corrugated way of doing things. Like a book. Yet when he
walks in there on the carpet in front of Old Hickory and the
cross-questionin' starts he answers up as straight and free as if he
was being asked to name the subway stations between Wall Street and the
Grand Central. You wouldn't think he'd ever gypped anybody in all his
young career.

Oh, yes, he'd known about the G. L. T. board meetin'. Surely. He'd been
sent up to Mr. Robert's club with the message for Oggie Kendall to come
down and do his director stunt. The private letter book? Yes, he
remembered putting that away in the safe. Had he taken a look at it? Why
should he? Vincent seems kind of hurt that anyone should suggest such a
thing. He stares at Old Hickory surprised and pained. Well, then, did he
happen to have any outside friends connected with the Curb; anybody that
he'd be apt to let slip little things about Corrugated affairs to?

"I should hope, sir, that if I did have such friends I would know enough
to keep business secrets to myself," says Vincent, his lips quiverin'
indignant.

"Yes, yes, to be sure," says Old Hickory, "but----"

Honest, he was almost on the point of apologizin' to Vincent when there
comes this knock on the private office door and I'm signalled to see who
it is. I finds one of the youths from the filin' room who's subbin' in
on the gate for Vincent. He grins and whispers the message and I
tells-him to stay there a minute.

"It's a lady to see you, Mr. Ellins," says I. "Mrs. Jerome St Claire."

"Eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "Mrs. St. Claire? Who the syncopated Sissyphus
is she?"

"Vincent's mother, sir," says I.

This time he let