Mr. Martin Jaffry flicked his cap. "All right. All right! He is." And
slowly retreated.

Mrs. Brewster-Smith, an eager light in her eyes, moved part way across the
room. "But we can't let you run away like this, Mr. Jaffry. Do sit down
and tell us about the work you are doing at the Country Club. Is it to be
bowling alley _and_ swimming pool----"

"Bowling alley _and_ swimming pool, yes. Tell me, chick, might a humble
constituent speak to the great man?"

Genevieve hesitated. "I'm sure he'd love to see you, Uncle Martin. But he
_did_ say----"

"Not to be disturbed by _any_body, eh?"

"Yes, Uncle Martin. It's a very important statement he has to prepare
before----"

"Good day, then. You look fine in the old house, chick!"

Mr. Jaffry donned his cap of homespun, ran down the steps and out the front
walk, hopped into his eight-cylinder roadster, and was off down the street
in a second. There was a sharp decisiveness about his exit, and about the
sudden speed of his machine; all duly noted by Mrs. Brewster-Smith, who
had gone so far as to move down the room to the front window and watch the
performance with narrowed eyes. The Jaffry Building stands at the southwest
corner of Fountain Square. It boasts six stories, mosaic flooring in the
halls, and the only passenger elevator in Whitewater. The ground floor was
given over to Humphrey's drug store; and most of Humphrey's drug store