"Thanks," says he. "I am lunching at my club." And with that he does
a careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'.

"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act,
will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback for
you! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!"

But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position it
wouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club and
camp on his trail,--him only a four-flushin' bond clerk,--I was holdin'
myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's later
when he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by into
the cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate.

"What name?" says I.

"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I--er--I work here."

"Excuse," says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for Alfy
Vanderbilt come to buy us out."

"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth.

"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!"

He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his session
with Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated we
don't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert.