Z did not appear to be the least bit excited over my having picked
him out to look into me. In the most perfunctory manner he shook
the hand that has shaken the hands of Jess Willard, George M. Cohan
and Henry Ford, and bade me be seated in a chair which was drawn
up in a strong light, where he might gaze directly at me as we
conversed and so get the full values of the composition. But if
I was a treat for him to look at he concealed his feelings very
effectually.

He certainly had his emotions under splendid control. But then,
of course, you must remember that he probably had traveled about
extensively and was used to sight-seeing.

From this point on everything passed off in a most businesslike
manner. He reached into a filing cabinet and took out an exhibit,
which I recognized as the same one his secretary had filled out
in the early part of the century. So I was already in the card-index
class. Then briefly he looked over the manifest that Doctor X had
sent him. It may not have been a manifest--it may have been an
invoice or a bill of lading. Anyhow I was in the assignee's hands.
I could only hope it would not eventually become necessary to call
in a receiver. Then he spoke:

"Yes, yes-yes," he said; "yes-yes-yes! Operation required. Small
matter--hum, hum! Let's see--this is Tuesday? Quite so. Do it
Friday! Friday at"--he glanced toward a scribbled pad of engagement
dates at his elbow--"Friday at seven A. M. No, make it seven-fifteen.
Have important tumor case at seven. St. Germicide's Hospital.
You know the place--up on Umpty-umph Street. Go' day! Miss Whoziz,
call next visitor."