There was a sting in the description, coming from such a speaker. "Look 'ere," was the angry retort. "Go avay und blay, vil you? I'm pizzy." Then Philip reached quickly through the little arch, grabbed a handful of shirt, tie and waistcoat, and dragged the big nose and thick lips violently against the wires of the grille. "Will you do what I ask, or shall I try and pull you through?" he said, quietly. But the boy's ready yell brought two clerks running, and a door was thrown open. Phil released his opponent and instantly explained his action. One of the clerks, an elderly man, looked a little deeper than the boy's ragged garments, and the mention of Mr. Wilson's name procured him a hearing. Moreover, he had previous experience of the youthful janitor's methods. With a cuff on the ear, this injured personage was bidden to go upstairs and say that Mr. Wilson had sent a boy to see Mr. Isaacstein. The added insult came when he was compelled to usher Philip to a waiting room. Soon a clerk entered. He was visibly astonished by the appearance of Mr. Wilson's messenger, and so was Mr. Isaacstein, when Philip was paraded before him in a spacious apartment, filled with glass cases and tables, at which several assistants were seated. "What the deuce----" he began, but checked himself. "What does Mr. Wilson want?" he went on. Evidently his Ludgate Hill acquaintance was useful to Philip. "He wants nothing, sir," said Philip. "He sent me to you on a matter of business. It is of a private nature. Can you give me a few minutes alone?" Isaacstein was a big-headed, big-shouldered man, tapering to a small point at his feet. He looked absurdly like a top, and surprise or emotion of any sort caused him to sway gently. He swayed now, and every clerk looked up, expecting him to fall bodily onto the urchin with the refined utterance who had dared to penetrate into the potentate's office with such a request. Kimberley, Amsterdam and London combined to lend effect to Isaacstein's wit when he said: "Is this a joke?" All the clerks guffawed in chorus. Fortunately, Isaacstein was in a good humor. He had just purchased a pearl for two hundred and fifty pounds, which he would sell to Lady Somebody for eight hundred pounds, to match another in an earring. "It appears to be," said Philip, when the merriment had subsided. For some reason the boy's grave, earnest eyes conquered the big little man's amused scrutiny. "Now, boy, be quick. What is it?" he said, testily, and every clerk bent to his task. "I have told you, sir. I wish to have a few minutes' conversation with you with regard to business of an important nature." "You say Mr. Wilson sent you--Mr. Wilson, of Grant & Sons?" "Yes, sir." Isaacstein yielded to amazed curiosity. "Step in here," he said, and led the way to his private office, surprising himself as well as his assistants by this concession.