"Do you think you are worth more than you get?" sneered Wells. "Has that book that you wrote, when we were paying you to do work for us, given you a swelled head?" Hemming was about to reply when an overgrown young man, a bookkeeper, who had been listening, nudged his elbow roughly. "Here's your mail," he said. Hemming placed the half-dozen letters in his pocket. His face was quite pale, considering the length of time he had been in the tropics. He took the overgrown youth by the front of his jacket and shook him. Then he twirled him deftly and pushed him sprawling against his enraged employer. Both went down, swearing viciously. The other inmates of the great room stared and waited. Most of them looked pleased. An office boy, who had received notice to leave that morning, sprang upon a table. "Soak it to 'em, Dook. Soak it to 'em, you bang-up Chawley. Dey can't stand dat sort o' health food." Wells got to his feet. The bookkeeper scrambled up and rushed at Hemming. He was received in a grip that made him repent his action. "Mr. Wells," said Hemming, "I shall hold on to this gentleman, who does not seem to know how to treat his superiors, until he cools off, and in the meantime I'll trouble you for what money is due me, up to date. Please accept my resignation at the same time." "I'll call a copper," sputtered Wells. The door opened, and the head of the publishing house of S----'s Sons entered. "Good Lord, what is the trouble?" he cried. "I am trying to draw my pay," explained Hemming. The new arrival looked at the ruffled, confused Wells with eyes of contempt and suspicion. "I'll wait for you, Mr. Hemming, on condition that you will lunch with me," he cried. A few minutes later they left the building, and in his pocket Hemming carried a check for the sum of his back pay. "In a month from now," said his companion, "that concern will not be worth as much as your check is written for. Even poor old Dodder had all he could do to hold it together. He had the brains and decency, and that fellow had the money." By the time lunch was over, Hemming found himself once more in harness, but harness of so easy a fit that not a buckle galled. The billet was a roving commission from S----'s Sons to do articles of unusual people and unusual places for their illustrated weekly magazine. He spent the afternoon in reading and writing letters. He advised every one with whom he had dealings of his new headquarters. He had a good collection of maps, and sat up until three in the morning pondering over them. Next day he bought himself a camera, and overhauled his outfit. By the dawn of the third day after his separation from the syndicate, he had decided to start northward, despite the season.