Betsy sent the outrageous estimate to Frank Donnell. Donnell sent it to Albert Smull. His partner, Leopold Shill, got hold of it and objected with both hands. Smull telephoned to Donnell that he’d drop in and discuss cuts in the morning. A minor accident detained Donnell’s suburban train. Smull arrived at Donnell’s office and sat down at Donnell’s desk to wait. Donnell’s secretary opened the director’s morning mail and laid it on his desk under the ruddy nose of Albert Smull. On top was a telegram to Donnell from Eris, dated from Whitewater, N. Y. Smull read it: “Arrive Saturday evening, Jane Street. Would love to see you before I begin work. Do call me up after Monday. Best wishes always. “Eris.” Smull was standing by one of the windows looking out on Broadway when Donnell arrived. They discussed the estimate Betsy had submitted, came to an economic conclusion, parted. Smull went down-town. But he could not keep his mind on business. He had a row with Shill, was brutal to a stenographer, made enemies of one or two customers, bullied his personal office force, and finally put on his hat and light overcoat and departed, leaving everything in a mess. At the Patroon’s Club that afternoon he saw Annan passing, and saluted him; and was ignored. This didn’t suit him. He turned back, and, coming up alongside of Annan: “What’s the matter?” he asked; “anything wrong, Annan?” “Yes, _you_ are,” said the boy. Smull was still smiling his near-eyed smile, but his sanguine features reddened more heavily. They had walked as far as the Strangers’ Room. There was nobody there, not even a servant. “What’s all this about?” demanded Smull. “I don’t get you, Annan----” “You don’t get anybody. That’s why your activities are ridiculous and you obnoxious.” Smull’s grin became mechanical: “Are you trying to quarrel with me over a skirt who has made monkeys out of both of us----” Annan hit him hard. He lost his balance, stumbled backward and landed on a leather sofa, seated. His left eye was already puffing up. He seemed too astonished to stir. Annan went over to the door, locked it, leaving the key there. Then he came back and waited for Smull to get up, which he did after a moment, and began to remove his coat and waistcoat. “We’ll both be expelled,” he said coolly, “but it’s worth it to me----” A heavy automatic pistol fell from an inside coat pocket to the carpet. “That’s what I ought to use on you,” he remarked; but he picked it up and dropped it into the side pocket of his coat. Then he turned and was on Annan like a panther. Both fell, smashing a chair; both were on their feet the next second. But Smull’s bolt was sped. His face was congested; he was panting already. He had lived too well. Annan walked toward him, perfectly aware that he could hit him when and where he chose.