"Substitute senna." So offhand was the tone that it sounded like a
suggestion rather than an order.

As the latter, however, the chemist contentedly took it.

"It'll cost less," he observed; "and I guess it'll do the work just as
well."

To Hal it seemed a somewhat cavalier method of altering a medical
formula. But his mind, accustomed to easy acceptance of the business
which so luxuriously supplied his wants, passed the matter over lightly.

"First-rate man, Dixon," remarked Dr. Surtaine as they passed along.
"College-bred, and all that. Boozes, though. I only pay him twenty-five
a week, and he's mighty glad to get it."

On the way back to the offices, they traversed the checking and
accounting rooms, the agency department, the great rows of desks whereat
the shipping and mailing were looked after, and at length stopped before
the door of a small office occupied by a dozen women. One of these, a
full-bosomed, slender, warm-skinned girl with a wealth of deep-hued,
rippling red hair crowning her small, well-poised head, rose and came to
speak to Dr. Surtaine.

"Did you get the message I sent you about Letter Number Seven?" she
asked.

"Hello, Milly," greeted the presiding genius, pleasantly. "Just what was
that about Number Seven?"