With a smile the boy hung up his hat and went down on his knees into the chaos, filing, selecting, discarding, with the old care. Simeon returned to his desk, growling. He took up the telephone receiver and put it to his ear, his scowl alert for blunders.... “What?--No!--You ’ve copied that wrong--The _last_ one--yes.... Tom_lin_son, I said--not Thompson--Oh, Lord! _Tomlin--L-i-n_...” John slipped quietly from the room. At the door marked with the bronze token, “President’s Office,” he paused. The typewriters clattered merrily within and through the ground glass he caught a haze of pompadours rising against the light. He opened the door and looked in. The young women at the typewriters did not look up--except with their shoulders. The one by the large window scowled fixedly at her machine, her fingers fidgeting and thumping the keys. Her mouth wore a look of fine scorn and her blue eyes glinted. John returned to the outer office. The head bookkeeper looked up with a nod. “Morning, John. Moving along up above!” The boy nodded a slow reply. “Where is Edith?” he said. “Oh--Edith?” The man thought a moment with pen suspended. The light from the hanging bulb fell on his lined face. “Edith? Oh, yes. Congdon took her. Billing-room, I guess. Back to stay?” “Not for long.” The boy had disappeared through the swinging door at the end of the room. The young man seated at another desk in the room followed him with curious glance. “Who is that?” he asked, turning a little on his stool and staring at his companion. The head bookkeeper nodded absently. “That is John Bennett.” His finger was on the column, tracing a blunder to its source. “And who in hell is John Bennett?” demanded the other slowly. “You ’ll find out--if you stay long enough,” replied the head bookkeeper pleasantly. He placed his finger on the column and jotted figures on the little pad at his side. He laid aside the pad. “He ’s Simeon Tetlow’s shadow,” he said. “The two Bridgewater boys over there by the window.” He nodded his head. “They call him ’Sissie Johnny.’” “Looks like a fool and acts like Lord of Creation,” muttered the other. “That ’s what he is,” said the head bookkeeper. He had no time for conversation just then. He was close on the track of his mistake. Moreover, the assistant bookkeeper was a thorn in his side. The appointment had been none of his--one of old man Tetlow’s blunders, he called it savagely when he had time to talk.