p of his graying head and his close-clipped moustache was
silvery white, in marked contrast to the pink-and-white mottle of his
cheeks, which hung down over his collar in folds, like some dependable
old foxhound's. One hand lay fat and puffy on the desk, clutching a
pencil in a nervous grip. And the middle of him--he seemed to bulk and
fill out the entire chair--so incongruous with his little feet and
mincing gait! It was as though as much as possible of his body were
seeking to escape that all-devouring tension in relapse. How familiar
it all was! Even during those months at camp the picture would recur
and Joe would laugh softly to himself. Poor old duffer! He was a
product of the plant just as much as ploughs and tillage implements
were. How soon would _he_ begin to show the indelible imprint?

The voice rose sharply. Joe realized that Mr. Boner was speaking to
him--was speaking with great feeling. He came back to realities with a
jerk.

"Out of carriage bolts two one half one quarter," he was saying. It
was probably the second time he had said it. He choked with emotion
and had to seek refuge again in the receptacle on the floor at the
left-hand corner of his desk.

Joe seemed unmoved.

"Book shows been out since April nineteenth." The old man turned to
observe the effect of his damnation.

Joe quivered but showed no sign.

"Make out memorandum cut down one thousand five one half by one
quarter." He spoke it explosively, keeping a furtive eye on that
left-hand corner. "Have a surplus eleven thousand of them."

Joe guiltily felt that the old man knew the stock books better than he
himself. A little spot of red appeared in each cheek.

Mr. Boner shoved two sheets of yellow paper across the desk toward
him. "I've reordered replacement one thousand five one half,
cancellation one thousand two one half." This with an air of
satisfaction. There was nothing more to be done, patently. "Waste
stock," Mr. Boner muttered.

Joe turned to go.

Mr. Boner exploded again. This was not all, apparently. "Blue annealed
sheets," he called, sputtered, gripped the arms of his chair
convulsively, recovered, and sat glaring helplessly.

Joe availed himself of the opportunity. "Have a memo for you on the
desk." In spite of himself his voice sounded nervous. "Just out of two
sizes to-day." He waited.

The old man turned and bent his head over his work. _That_ was over.
Joe returned to his desk, got the memo, and entered the l