kids which finally carried them to the Fresh Air
and left only one name on the Gold Sign.

Up to his Chin in Debt and with a Panic looming on the Horizon, it
behooved Alexander to be on the job at 7:30 A. M. and hang around to
scan the Pay-Roll until 9:30 P. M.

Ofttimes while galloping from his Apartment to the Galleys or chasing
homeward to grab off a few wasteful hours of Slumber, he would see
People of the Lower Classes going out to the Parks with Picnic Baskets,
or lined up at the Vaudeville Palaces, or watching a hard-faced
Soubrette demonstrate something in a Show Window.

It got him to think Dubs could frivol around and waste the golden
Moments when they might be hopping on to a Ten-Cent Piece.

His usual Gait was that of a man going for the Doctor, and he talked
Numbers to himself as he sped along and mumbled over the important
Letters he was about to dictate.

Those who were pushed out of his way would overhear a scrap or two of
the Raving and think he was Balmy.

The answer is that every hard-working Business Guy acts as if he had
Screech-Owls in the Tower.

Aleck had his whole Staff so buffaloed that the Hirelings tried to keep
up with him, so that Life in the Beehive was just one thing after
another, with no Intermission.

The Whip cracked every five minutes, and the Help would dig in their
toes and take a fresh lean-up against the Collars, for the Main Squeeze
was trying to be a Bank Director, and Rockefeller had stolen a long
start on him.

With a thousand important Details claiming his attention, Aleck had no
time to monkey with side issues such as the general State of his Health
or the multifarious plans for uplifting the Flat-Heads that he could
see from his Window.

Those who recommended Golf to him seemed to forget that no one ever
laid by anything while on the Links.

As for the Plain People, his only Conviction when he surveyed them in
the Mass was that every Man-Jack was holding back Money that rightfully
belonged to him (Alexander).

Needless to say, the battling Financier was made welcome at the
Director's Table and handed a piece of a Trust Company and became an
honored Guest when any Melon was to be sliced.

All that he dreamt while sleeping in the cold room over the Store had
eventuated for fair.

The more Irons in the Fire, the more flip-flops he turned.

He never paused, except to weep over the fact that some of the rival
Procurers were getting more than he could show.