The office door was opened suddenly and a tall young man strode
into the room, only to stop aghast at the sight before him. Droom's
lank figure swayed uncertainly and his eyes wavered.

"What's all this?" cried Graydon, dropping his bag and coming toward
the old man, his hand outstretched. Droom's clammy fingers rested
lifelessly in the warm clasp.

"How are you, Graydon? I'm--I'm very glad to see you. You are
looking well. Oh, this? We--we are moving," said the old man. The
helpers looked on with interest. "Come into the back office. It
isn't so torn up. I didn't expect you so soon. They said it was
twenty-four hours late. Well, well, how are you, my boy?"

"I'm quite well again, Elias. Hard siege of it, I tell you. Moving,
eh? What's that for?"

"Never mind those books, Eddie. Thank you for helping me. Come in
some other time. You fellows--I mean you--pack the rest of these
and then I'll tell you what to do next. Come in, Graydon."

Eddie Deever took his departure, deeply insulted because he had
not been introduced to the newcomer. Graydon, somewhat bewildered,
followed Droom into his father's consultation room. He looked around
inquiringly.

"Where is father? I telegraphed to him."

An incomprehensible grin came into Droom's face. He twirled the