if--if----"

"If what, Mister Sheridan?"

"--if, oh well, just charge it."

Billy Simmons paused in the act of reaching for a sundae glass. The
smile left his face.

Pudge, though he did not once look up from that absorbing little
operation with the fat forefinger, felt this pause and knew that Billy's
grin had gone; and his own mouth drooped and drooped. It was a tense
moment.

"You see, Pudge," Billy began in some embarrassment, only to conclude
rather sharply, "I'll have to ask Mr. Humphrey. Your sister said we
weren't----"

"Oh, well!" sighed Pudge. Getting down from the stool he waddled slowly
out of the store.

It was no use going up against old Humphrey. He had tried that. He went
as far as the fire-plug, close to the corner, and sank down upon it.
Everybody was against him. He would sit here awhile and think it over.
Perhaps he could figure out some way of breaking through the conspiracy.
Then Mr. Martin Jaffry drove up to the curb and he had to move his legs.
Mr. Jaffry said, "Hello, Pudge," too. It was all deeply annoying.

Meantime, during the past half-hour, the law offices of Remington and
Evans were not lacking in the sense of life and activity. Things began
moving when Penny Evans (christened Penfield) came back from lunch. He
wore an air--Betty Sheridan noted, from her typewriter desk within the
rail--of determination. His nod toward herself was distinctly brusque; a
new quality which gave her a moment's thought. And then when he had
hung up his hat and was walking past her to his own private office, he
indulged in a faint, fleeting grin.

Betty considered him. She had known Penny Evans as long as she could
remember knowing anybody; and she had never seen him look quite as he
looked this afternoon.

The buzzer sounded. It was absurd, of course; nobody else in the
office. He could have spoken--you could hear almost every sound over the
seven-foot partitions.

She rose, waited an instant to insure perfect composure, smoothed down
her trim shirtwaist, pushed back a straying wisp of her naturally wavy
hair, picked up her notebook and three sharp pencils, and went quietly
into his office.

He sat there at his flat desk--his blond brows knit, his mouth firm, a
light of eager good humor in his blue eyes.

"Take this," he said... Betty seated herself opposite him, and was
instantly ready for work.

"... Memorandum. From rentals--the old Evans property on Ash Street, the
two houses on Wilson A