"With--without being sent for?" gasped Jenkins.

"There's no use putting it off. I--"

A dapper little page appeared at Mr. Bingle's elbow, interrupting him
with the curt remark that Mr. Force wanted to see him when it was
convenient.

"Convenient?" murmured Mr. Bingle, his eyes bulging.

"Well, great--" began Jenkins.

"That's what he said: convenient," said the page loftily. "Gee, where
did you get them ears?"

Mr. Bingle got down from his stool slowly, painfully.

"I guess I'll go now," he said. "It's just as convenient for me to get
out now as--"

"I can't understand that 'convenient' business," broke in Jenkins,
wrinkling his brow. "Well, good luck, Bingle. I'm sorry."

Sixty wistful, sympathetic eyes followed Mr. Bingle as he made his way
out to the passage. The word had gone 'round that "old Bingy" was to
get the sack, and every one was saying to himself that if they
discharged a man like Bingle for being late it wouldn't be safe for
any one to transgress for even the tiniest fraction of an instant.

Half-way down the narrow aisle leading to the offices, Mr. Bingle