"Then, of course, it is done. You'll be able to yell '_sandwich_'! anywhere in New York and nobody will think of anything except that you are the most beautiful girl in the world. Give me another before Frederick brings 'em." "Brings what?" "Lamb chops!" answered H. R., who was a humorist of the New York school. "Quick!" And he kissed her twice. "We'll have tea up-stairs if you're really going to be one of the family," said Mrs. Goodchild, with the dubious smile so familiar on the faces of mothers of New York girls. "Come, Grace!" said H. R., taking her by the unringed hand. He knew better--by instinct. It was a very satisfactory day. Such was the compelling force of his self-confidence that before he left the house Mr. and Mrs. Goodchild sincerely hoped he could accomplish the impossible and wipe out the sandwich stain from the old Knickerbocker name of Rutgers. XXIX The next morning H. R. called Andrew Barrett into the inner office. "Shut the door," said he. Andrew Barrett did so and looked alarmed--alarmed rather than guilty. "To-morrow, and until further notice," said H. R., sternly, "you will tell the department-store sandwiches to parade in front of the various newspaper offices from morning until night." "But not in Park Row, surely?" "Exactly! And find out whether the business managers of the various newspapers have been holding conferences with the managing editors. They probably will--this afternoon or to-morrow." "How can I--" "By paid spies--office-boy scouts. Of course, lady stenographers being more in your line-- No! Look me in the eye!" Andrew Barrett blushed and said, feebly: "I am taking the count, Chief." "Very well. I shall now go out and do your work. See that you do mine!" And H. R. went out, leaving Andrew Barrett full of devastating curiosity. "I wonder what he has up his sleeve now?" mused young Mr. Barrett. "I'll bet it's a corker!" H. R. himself called on the head of one of the most progressive of New York's great department stores--a man to whom full pages on week-days were nothing. He, therefore, had heard of H. R., and also had used sandwiches. He greeted the founder of the S. A. S. A. with respectful interest. H. R. said, calmly: "I am here now to make you a present of from ten thousand to fifty thousand dollars a year--in cash!" Mr. Liebmann, of course, knew that H. R., though an aristocrat, was neither a fool nor a lunatic. He diplomatically asked, "And my gratitude for your kindness may be expressed just how, Mr. Rutgers?" "By accepting the cash and putting it in your pocket, to have and to hold until death do you part." "Mr. Rutgers, I am an old man and suspense is trying." And Mr. Liebmann smiled deprecatingly.