But though he came like a conquering hero, he was not received like one. Captain Zelotes sat at his desk, the copy of the Boston morning paper which he had been reading sticking out of the waste basket into which it had been savagely jammed a half hour before. The news had not been to the captain's liking. These were the September days of 1914; the German Kaiser was marching forward “mit Gott” through Belgium, and it began to look as if he could not be stopped short of Paris. Consequently, Captain Zelotes, his sympathies from the first with England and the Allies, was not happy in his newspaper reading. Albert entered, head erect and eyes shining. If Gertie Kendrick could have seen him then she would have fallen down and worshiped. His grandfather looked at him in silence for a moment, tapping his desk with the stump of a pencil. Albert, too, was silent; he was already thinking of another poem with which to dazzle the world, and his head was among the rosy clouds. “Sit down, Al,” said Captain Zelotes shortly. Albert reluctantly descended to earth and took the battered armchair standing beside the desk. The captain tapped with his pencil upon the figure-covered sheet of paper before him. Then he said: “Al, you've been here three years come next December, ain't you?” “Why--yes, sir, I believe I have.” “Um-hm, you have. And for the heft of that time you've been in this office.” “Yes, sir.” “Yes. And Labe Keeler and I have been doin' our best to make a business man out of you. You understand we have, don't you?” Albert looked puzzled and a little uneasy. Into his roseate dreams was just beginning to filter the idea that his grandfather's tone and manner were peculiar. “Why, yes, sir, of course I understand it,” he replied. “Well, I asked you because I wasn't quite sure whether you did or not. Can you guess what this is I've got on my desk here?” He tapped the figure-covered sheet of paper once more. Before Albert could speak the captain answered his own question. “I'll tell you what it is,” he went on. “It's one of the latest samples of your smartness as a business man. I presume likely you know that Laban worked here in this office until three o'clock this mornin', didn't you?” Albert did not know it. Mr. Keeler had told him nothing of the sort. “Why, no,” he replied. “Did he? What for?” “Ye-es, he did. And what for? Why, just to find out what was the matter with his trial balance, that's all. When one of Labe's trial balances starts out for snug harbor and ends up on a reef with six foot of water in her hold, naturally Labe wants to get her afloat and pumped dry as quick as possible. He ain't used to it, for one thing, and it makes him nervous.” Albert's uneasiness grew. When his grandfather's speech became sarcastic and nautical, the young man had usually found that there was trouble coming for somebody.