shirt, tie, collar and scarf pin, upon which the appraising eye
now rested. "Mr. McChesney." He produced a card.

"Appointment?"

"No--but he'll see me."

But Machiavelli had seen too many overconfident callers. Their
very confidence had taught him caution.

"If you will please state your--ah--business--"

Jock smiled a little patient smile and brushed an imaginary fleck
of dust from the sleeve of his very correct coat.

"I want to ask him for a job as office boy," he jibed.

An answering grin overspread the fat features of the usher. Even
an usher likes his little joke. The sense of humor dies hard.

"I have a letter from him, asking me to call," said Jock, to
clinch it.

"This way." The keeper of the door led Jock toward the sacred
inner portal and held it open. "Mr. Hupp's is the last door to the
right."

The door closed behind him. Jock found himself in the big, busy,
light-flooded central office. Down either side of the great room
ran a row of tiny private offices, each partitioned off, each