Shaken by a vigorous hand, the sleeper opened his eyes. Hauled to his feet, he permitted himself to be led, still in a trancelike condition, out of the room and down the passage to the cubbyhole where Sam performed his daily duties. Here, sinking into a chair, he fell asleep again; and Sam left him and went back to his uncle. Mr. Pynsent was staring thoughtfully out of the window as he entered. “Sit down, Sam,” he said. Sam sat down. “I’m sorry about all that, uncle.” “All what?” “All that business that was going on when you came in.” “Ah, yes. What was it, by the way?” “Spike Murphy was seeing if he could kick higher than a kid from a firm downstairs.” “And did he?” “Yes.” “Good boy,” said Mr. Pynsent approvingly. “You arranged the competition, no doubt?” “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” “You would. You have been in my employment,” proceeded Mr. Pynsent evenly, “three months. In that time you have succeeded in thoroughly demoralising the finest office force in New York.” “Oh, uncle!” said Sam reproachfully. “Thoroughly,” repeated Mr. Pynsent. “The office boys call you by your Christian name.” “They will do it,” sighed Sam. “I clump their heads, but the habit persists.” “Last Wednesday I observed you kissing my stenographer.” “The poor little thing had toothache.” “Also, Mr. Ellaby informs me that your work is a disgrace to the firm.” There was a pause. “The English public school is the curse of the age,” said Mr. Pynsent dreamily. To a stranger the remark might have sounded irrelevant, but Sam understood the import. He appreciated it for what it was--a nasty crack. “Did they teach you anything at Wrykyn, Sam, except football?” “Oh, yes.” “What?” “Oh, lots of things.” “I have seen no evidence of it. Why your mother sent you to that place, instead of to some good business college, I cannot imagine.” “Well, you see, father had been there----” Sam broke off. Mr. Pynsent, he was aware, had not been fond of the late Anthony Shotter--considering, and possibly correctly, that his dead sister had, in marrying that amiable but erratic person, been guilty of the crowning folly of a frivolous and fluffy-headed life. “A strong recommendation,” said Mr. Pynsent dryly. Sam had nothing to say to this. “You are very like your father in a great many ways,” said Mr. Pynsent. Sam let this one go by too. They were coming off the bat a bit fast this morning, but there was nothing to be done about it. “And yet I am fond of you, Sam,” resumed Mr. Pynsent after a brief pause. This was more the stuff. “And I am fond of you, uncle,” said Sam in a hearty voice. “When I think of all you have done for me----” “But,” went on Mr. Pynsent, “I feel that I shall like you even better three thousand miles away from the offices of the Pynsent Export and Import Company. We are parting, Sam--and immediately.” “I’m sorry.” “I, on the other hand,” said Mr. Pynsent, “am glad.”