“Stop! Spare me!” cried Aughinbaugh. He collapsed in his chair, sliding together in an attitude of extreme dejection. “My spirits are very low, but----” He rose, tottered feebly to his desk and took therefrom a small bottle, which, with a glass, he handed to Bransford. “Thanks. But you--you’re a tee-totaler?” said Jeff. “A--well--not exactly,” stammered Aughinbaugh. “But I have to be very careful. I--I only take one drink at a time!” He fumbled out another glass. “I stumble, I stumble!” said Bransford gravely. He poured out a small drink and passed the bottle. “‘I fill this cup to one made up!’”--He held the glass up to the light. “Well?” said Aughinbaugh, expectantly. “Go on!” “That description can’t be bettered,” said Bransford. “Never will I drink such a toast as that,” cried Aughinbaugh, laughing. “Let me substitute, Here’s to our better acquaintance!” Chapter II “Life is just one damn thing after another.” --_A Nameless Philosopher._ Aughinbaugh closed the door behind him and paused, vastly diverted. His entrance had passed unnoted, muffled by the jerky click-click of the typewriter on which Jeff Bransford toiled with painful absorption. On Jeff’s forehead little beads of sweat stood out, glistening in the lamp-light. He scanned the last line, scowled ferociously, and snapped the platen back. His uncertain fingers twitched solicitously above the keys. Aughinbaugh chuckled offensively. “‘Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.’” he declaimed. Jeff whirled around. “Hello, here you are! Any news from our employer?” He rose with a sigh of relief and mopped his brow. “Gee! I’ve got to work the Jim-fidgets out of my fingers.” Ignoring the query, Aughinbaugh took a step forward, drew up his slender frame, inflated his chest, spread one hand upon it, and threw up his other hand with a flourish of limber fingers. “‘Now is the time,’” he spouted forth at Bransford, mouthing the well-known words, “‘for all good men and true to come to the aid of the party!’” Jeff grinned sheepishly. “I’ll dream that cussed thing to-night. How long did it take you to learn to play a tune on this fool contraption, anyhow?” “It took me three months--to play on it anyhow. But then I already knew how to spell. I’ve been at it two years since and am still improving. I should estimate that you would need about eight years. Better give it up. Try a maul or a piledriver. More suited to your capabilities. Why, Jeff, a really good stenographer can do first-class work in the dark.”