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with him. And he objected to the things he said. But he did approve of that amazing way he had of intercepting raging female novelists, paying them a couple of compliments, telling them a couple of funny stories and sending them away beaming and giggling, all animosity forgotten.
    He endeavoured to restore his composure by plunging himself into his work, and, after a quarter of an hour, was beginning to feel reasonably tranquil once more, when there was a breezy smack on the door, which only one member of his office force would have had the effrontery to deliver, and Joe Vanringham ambled in.
    'You sent for me, chief?' he cried heartily. 'Well, here I am. Old Faithful reporting for duty. What can I do for you?'
    There was a certain family resemblance between the brothers Vanringham, and if anyone had seen Joe and Tubby together, he might have guessed that they were related, but this resemblance was a purely superficial one. There was between them the fundamental difference which exists between a tough cat which has had to fend for itself among the alleys and ash-cans of the world and its softer kinsman who has for long been the well-nourished pet in a good home. Tubby was sleek, Joe lean and hard. He had that indefinable air which comes to young men who have had to make their way up from a ten-dollar start.
    Mr Busby eyed him sourly, for the memory of that telephone conversation still rankled. The Busbys did not lightly forget. He
found, moreover, in his young assistant's manner this morning a more than ordinarily offensive exuberance. Always lacking in reverence and possessed of a strong bias toward freshness, Joe Vanringham seemed to him today rather less reverent and slightly fresher than usual. The word 'effervescent' was one which would have covered his deportment.
    There's a woman in the waiting-room, come about a bill,' he said. 'Go and attend to her.'
    Joe nodded sympathetically.
    'I get you, chief. The old, old story, eh?'
    'What do you mean, the old, old story?'
    'Well, it's happened before, hasn't it? But don't you worry. I'm in rare shape this morning. I could tackle ten women, come about ten bills. Leave it to me.'
    'Look out!' cried Mr Busby.
    Joe lowered the hand with which he had been about to administer a reassuring pat to his employer's shoulder, and looked at him with a mild surprise.
    'Eh?'
    'I'm all skinned.'
    'Somebody skinned you ?'
    'Shoulders. Sun bathing.'
    'Oh, I see. You should have used oil, chief.'
    'I know I should have used oil. And how many times have I told you not to call me "chief"?'
    'But I must employ some little term of respect on these occasions when you give me audience. Boss? Magnate? Do you like "magnate"? Or how about "tycoon"?'
    'You just call me "sir".'
    '"Sir"? Yes, that's good. That's neat. Snappy. Slips off the tongue. How did you come to think of that?'
    Mr Busby flushed. He was wondering, as he had so often wondered before, whether even the admirable service which this young man rendered him in his capacity of watchdog was sufficient compensation for this sort of thing. The words 'You're fired!' trembled on his lips, but he choked them down.
    'Go and attend to that woman,' he said.
    'In one moment,' said Joe. 'First, I have a more painful task to perform.'
    He moved to the cupboard under the bookshelf and began to rummage in it.
    'What the devil are you doing?'
    'Looking for your smelling salts. I'm afraid,' said Joe, returning and regarding his employer with a compassionate eye, 'there is a nasty jolt coming to you, tycoon, and I think we should have restoratives handy. Did you read the papers this morning?'
    'What are you talking about?'
    'I repeat: Did you read the papers this morning?'
    Mr Busby said that he had seen The Times. Joe winced.
    'A low rag,' he said. 'But even The Times had to admit that the thing had got over.'
    'Eh?'
    'My play. It opened last night.'
    'Have you written a play?'
    'And in what manner! A socko! It has everything.'
    'Oh?'
    '"Oh?" is not much of a