his poor ears burned with a fierceness that caused him to fear that
they were on the point of bursting into flames. The first vice-
president was pointing him out to the president, there could be no
doubt about that; and the pompous president was bobbing his head in a
most extraordinary manner, there could be no doubt about that either.
The third man of the trio was the chief watchman, and he was looking
at Mr. Bingle as a cat looks at a captured mouse. It was all over!
They were about to arrest him for embezzlement or murder or something
equally as heinous. Mr. Bingle turned colder than he had been at any
time during his stay in the ice-bound city of Syracuse.

Then the trio abruptly turned away and left him sitting there, frozen
to the marrow. He tried to swallow, but his throat was paralysed.

"Gee, that looks bad, Bingle," whispered Jenkins, pityingly. "That was
the old man. What--what the dickens have you been up to?"

Mr. Bingle's stiff lips moved but no sound came forth. He was to be
discharged! In fifteen years he had been late at his desk but once,
and he was to be discharged! What would Mary say? What would become of
Mary? What would become of Melissa, now that they couldn't afford to
keep a servant?

"You been here longer than any one, too," went on Jenkins. "How long
has it been, Bingle?"

"Fifteen years," gulped Mr. Bingle, in a strange, unnatural voice.

"That's longer than the old man himself," said Jenkins. "He's been
president less'n twelve years. Say, Bingle, I'm all broke up over it.