The unfortunate departed, feebly remonstrating, and Meeson, having glared around at the other clerks and warned them that unless they were careful—very careful—they would soon follow in his tracks, continued his course of devastation. Presently he met an editor, No. 7 it was, who was bringing him an agreement to sign. He snatched it from him and glanced through it. “What do you mean by bringing me a thing like this?” he said: “It’s all wrong.” “It is exactly as you dictated to me yesterday, Sir,” said the editor indignantly. “What, do you mean to contradict me?” roared Meeson. “Look here No. 7, you and I had better part. Now, no words: your salary will be paid to you till the end of the month, and if you would like to bring an action for wrongful dismissal, why, I’m your man. Good morning, No. 7; good morning.” Next he crossed a courtyard where, by slipping stealthily around the corner, he came upon a jolly little errand boy, who was enjoying a solitary game of marbles. _Whack_ came his cane across the seat of that errand boy’s trousers, and in another minute he had followed the editor and the sandwich-devouring clerk. And so the merry game went on for half an hour or more, till at last Mr. Meeson was fain to cease his troubling, being too exhausted to continue his destroying course. But next morning there was promotion going on in the great publishing house; eleven vacancies had to be filled. A couple of glasses of brown sherry and a few sandwiches, which he hastily swallowed at a neighboring restaurant, quickly restored him, however; and, jumping into a cab, he drove post haste to his lawyers’, Messrs. Todd and James. “Is Mr. Todd in?” he said to the managing clerk, who came forward bowing obsequiously to the richest man in Birmingham. “Mr. Todd will be disengaged in a few minutes, Sir,” he said. “May I offer you the _Times_?” “Damn the _Times_!” was the polite answer; “I don’t come here to read newspapers. Tell Mr. Todd I must see him at once, or else I shall go elsewhere.” “I am much afraid Sir”—began the managing clerk. Mr. Meeson jumped up and grabbed his hat. “Now then, which is it to be?” he said. “Oh, certainly, Sir; pray be seated,” answered the manager in great alarm—Meeson’s business was not a thing to be lightly lost. “I will see Mr. Todd instantly,” and he vanished. Almost simultaneously with his departure an old lady was unceremoniously bundled out of an inner room, clutching feebly at a reticule full of papers and proclaiming loudly that her head was going round and round. The poor old soul was just altering her will for the eighteenth time in favor of a brand new charity, highly recommended by Royalty; and to be suddenly shot from the revered presence of her lawyer out into the outer darkness of the clerk’s office, was really too much for her.