"Oh, Lord!" groaned Sam Hupp, and covered his eyes with his hand,
as if in pain.

Jock stared. The affronted feeling was returning. Sam Hupp
recovered himself and smiled a little wistfully.

"McChesney, when I came up here twelve years ago I got a job as
reception-room usher. A reception-room usher is an office boy in
long pants. Sometimes, when I'm optimistic, I think that if I live
twelve years longer I'll begin to know something about the
rudiments of this game."

"Oh, of course," began Jock, apologetically. But Hupp's glance was
over his head. Involuntarily Jock turned to follow the direction
of his eyes.

"Busy?" said a voice from the doorway.

"Come in, Dutch! Come in!" boomed Hupp.

The man who entered was of the sort that the boldest might well
hesitate to address as "Dutch"--a tall, slim, elegant figure,
Van-dyked, bronzed.

"McChesney, this is Von Herman, head of our art department."

Their hands met in a brief clasp. Von Herman's thoughts were
evidently elsewhere.