Grismer, tall, bony, sandy and with a pair of unusually light yellowish eyes behind eye-glasses, appeared the classical philanthropist of the stage. With his white, bushy side-whiskers, his frock coat, and his little ready-made black bow-tie, slightly askew under a high choker, he certainly dressed the part. In fact, any dramatic producer would have welcomed him in the rôle, for he had no "business" to learn; it was perfectly natural for him to join his finger tips together while conversing; and his voice and manner left nothing whatever to criticize. "Ah! My friend of many years!" he exclaimed as Cleland was ushered into his office in the building of the Manhattan Charities Concern. "And how, I pray, can I be of service to my old friend, John Cleland? M-m-m’yes—my friend of many years!" Cleland told his story very simply, adding: "I understand that your Concern is handling Case 119, Grismer—acting, I believe, for a child-placing agency." "_Which_ case?" demanded Grismer, almost sharply. "Case 119. The case of Stephanie Quest," repeated Cleland. Grismer looked at him with odd intentness for a moment, then his eyes shifted, as though something were disturbing his suave mental tranquillity: "M-m-m’yes. Oh, yes. I believe we have this case to handle among many others. M-m-m! Quite so; quite so. Case 119? Quite so." "May I have the child?" asked Cleland bluntly. "Bless me! Do you really wish to take such chances, Cleland?" "Why not? Others take them, don’t they?" "M-m-m’yes. Oh, yes. Certainly. But it is usually people of the—ah—middle and lower classes who adopt children. M-m-m’yes; the middle and lower classes. And, naturally, _they_ would not be very much disappointed in a foundling or waif who failed to—ah—develop the finer, subtler, more delicate Christian qualities that a gentleman in your position might reasonably expect—m-m-m’yes!—might, as it were, demand in an adopted child." "I’ll take those chances in the case in question," said Cleland, quietly. "M-m-m’yes, the case in question. Case 119. Quite so.... I am wondering——" he passed a large, dry hand over his chin and mouth, reflectively, while his light-coloured eyes remained alertly on duty. "I have been wondering whether you have looked about before deciding on this particular child. There are a great many other deserving cases, m-m-m’yes—a great many deserving cases——" "I want this particular child, Grismer." "Quite so. M-m-m’yes." He looked up almost furtively. "You—ah—have some previous knowledge, perhaps, of this little girl’s antecedents?" Mr. Grismer’s voice grew soft and persuasive; his finger tips were gently joined. Cleland, looking up at him, caught a glimmer resembling suspicion in those curiously light-coloured eyes. "Yes, I have learned certain things about her," he said shortly. "I know enough! I want that child for mine and I’m going to have her." "May I ask—ah—just what facts you have learned about this unfortunate infant?"