at once."

"Huh!" says I, glancin' at the file title. "Copy of charter of the
Palisades Electric! At once is good. Ought to have been on Mr.
Ellins's desk hours ago."

"Boy!" he explodes threatenin'.

"Ah, ditch the hysterics, Peddie!" says I. "It's all right now I'm on
the job," and with a grin to comfort him I slips through Mr. Robert's
room and taps on the door of the boss's private office before blowin'
in.

And, say, it looks like I've arrived almost in time for the final
clinch. Old Hickory is leanin' forward earnest, his jaw shoved out,
his eyes narrowed to slits, and he's poundin' the chair arm with his
big ham fist.

"What I want to know, Jones," he's sayin', "is simply this: Are your
folks going to drop that Palisades road scheme, or aren't you?"

Course, I can't break into a dialogue at a point like that; so I closes
the door gentle behind me and backs against the knob, watchin' George
Wesley, who's sittin' there with his chin down and his eyes on the rug.

"Really, Ellins," says he, "I can't give you an answer to that.
I--er--I must refer you to our Mr. Sturgis."

"Eh?" snaps old Hickory. "Sturgis! Who the syncopated sculping is
Sturgis?"