It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple more
delayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him come
out with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead,
as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to give
me a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin'
under the collar.

"Mr. Ellins," says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got to
go!"

"That's too bad," says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'd
promised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least.
One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if you
say you can't----"

"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case," says Miller; "but he's worse
than useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him to
observe office hours it's going to be bad for discipline."

"Try docking him, Miller," suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. And
pile on the work. Keep him on the jump."

"Yes, Sir," says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out.

And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer's
case,--pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and all
that. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination.
Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappy
eyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though,
she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion.