Anyway, Old Hickory has chewed up four brunette cigars the size of
young baseball bats, two of the Board have threatened to resign, and a
hurry call has just been sent out for our chief counsel to report, when
Mr. Robert glances annoyed towards the door. It's nobody but
fair-haired Vincent, that has my old place on the gate, and he's merely
peekin' in timid, tryin' to signal someone.

"For heaven's sake, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "see what that boys
wants. I've already waved him away twice. Of course, if it is
anything important--"

"I get you," says I, passing over to him the tabulated reports I'd been
sittin' tight with. Then I slips out to where Vincent is waitin'.

"Buildin' on fire?" says I.

"Why, no, sir," says be, goin' bug-eyed.

"Oh!" says I. "Then who you got waitin' out there--Secretary Daniels
or the Czar of Russia?"

Vincent pinks up like a geranium and smiles shy, like he always does
when he's kidded. "If you please, sir," says he, "it's only a lady; to
see Mr. Mason, sir."

"Huh!" says I. "Lady trailin' old K. W. here, eh? Must be one of the
fam'ly."

"Oh no, sir," says Vincent. "I'm quite sure it isn't."