“Hello, Dubignon, you here? Glad to meet you again,” said the banker, to the profound amazement of Mr. Church. “I have a mind to tear away the hall glass around home for something that tells a story. Can you run around this evening for a little professional talk? Shall want the same child faces you used in the church. They closely resemble a niece of mine who is to be with us Christmas, and I am planning a surprise. Come at eight thirty.” And promptly at eight thirty, as testified by little chimes in the great hallway, King entered the home of the great banker--fairyland, it seemed. Back in his own room, an hour later, he sat and stared out over the white city, as one who had dreamed an exquisite dream and could not clear his eyes of it. He had been employed, or the firm he served had, through him, to compose a strange picture in glass--a picture of remarkable significance for him. What an exquisite comedy! The commission was _carte blanche_ as to price and the central figure was to be himself--humble draughtsman! It was too much for his sense of humor. He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. Oh, for ten minutes of Billee! Where the deuce was Billee, anyway? And why didn’t Mr. Throckmorton talk about the plans he already had? He had casually, he hoped it sounded that way, inquired of him as to how the office building matter was coming on, and had been told, casually, it certainly sounded that way, that he hadn’t got a report yet. Fate moved again. Fate had certainly waked up. This time she moved a castle. “Sit down, Dubignon.” King took the nearest chair, a little weakly. It was his first summons to the senior partner’s room. Now that man of business leaned back from his desk and surveyed him with interest. What had happened? And then: “I have reported favorably on the plans you submitted to Throckmorton. They are fine. A man doesn’t have to plan but one such building to make good. Dubignon, you are wasted in stained glass. Throckmorton informs me that he will accept the plans and finance the building. The firm of Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon will erect it.” He pushed a paper across the desk for King to sign, and proffered a pen. “Sir!” “Rather sudden, I know; but Toomer and I have bought out Church and you are in. There are no details. The building you bring in settles all.” “Excuse me, sir, but I think I should like to go out and faint awhile.” “Go when you please. Partners don’t ask permission. Hunt _her_ up, my boy, and tell her about it. There’s always a ‘her’ in a young man’s life. There was in mine.” “The trouble is, sir, I don’t know where my ‘her’ is. I seem to have lost her.” “Don’t bother. She’ll turn up. They always do. Here, you are going without signing the papers.” King signed, and shook hands fervently. Mr. Beeker drew a box of Havanas from his desk and taking one shoved the others across to him.