When its turn came, the private secretary, somewhat apologetically, laid
the letter in front of the Wisest Man in Wall Street.

"From Mrs. Austin, probation officer, Court of General Sessions," he
explained. "Wants a letter about Spear. He's been convicted of theft.
Comes up for sentence Tuesday."

"Spear?" repeated Arnold Thorndike.

"Young fellow, stenographer, used to do your letters last summer going
in and out on the train."

The great man nodded. "I remember. What about him?"

The habitual gloom of the private secretary was lightened by a grin.

"Went on the loose; had with him about five hundred dollars belonging to
the firm; he's with Isaacs & Sons now, shoe people on Sixth Avenue. Met
a woman, and woke up without the money. The next morning he offered to
make good, but Isaacs called in a policeman. When they looked into it,
they found the boy had been drunk. They tried to withdraw the charge,
but he'd been committed. Now, the probation officer is trying to get
the judge to suspend sentence. A letter from you, sir, would--"

It was evident the mind of the great man was elsewhere. Young men who,
drunk or sober, spent the firm's money on women who disappeared before
sunrise did not appeal to him. Another letter submitted that morning had
come from his art agent in Europe. In Florence he had discovered the
Correggio he had been sent to find. It was undoubtedly genuine, and he
asked to be instructed by cable. The price was forty thousand dollars.