"Mr. Bills is engaged just now," the man said in a hushed tone. "Well, tell him Mr. Gibbs is here." "But he’s engaged just now, sir; he’s dictating." The man leaned forward and whispered the word "dictating" impressively. But Gibbs kept on toward the door; then the man blocked his way. "Tell him if you want to," said Gibbs, "if not, I will." It seemed that Gibbs might walk directly through the man, who retreated from him, and, having no other egress, went through Mr. Bills’s door. A moment more and he held it open for Gibbs. Bills was sitting at an enormous desk which was set in perfect order; on either side of him were baskets containing the letters he was methodically answering. Bills’s head showed over the top of the desk; it was a round head covered with short black hair, smoothly combed and shining. His black side-whiskers were likewise short and smooth. His neck was bound by a white collar and a little pious, black cravat, and he wore black clothes. His smoothly-shaven lips were pursed in a self-satisfied way; he was brisk and unctuous, very clean and proper, and looked as if he devoutly anointed himself with oil after his bath. In a word, he bore himself as became a prominent business man, who, besides his own large enterprise, managed a popular Sunday-school, and gave Sunday afternoon "talks" on "Success," for the instruction of certain young men of the city, too mild and acquiescent to succeed as anything but conformers. "Ah, Mr. Gibbs," he said. "You will excuse me a moment." Bills turned and resumed the dictation of his stereotyped phrases of business. He dictated several letters, then dismissed his stenographer and, turning about, said with a smile: "Now, Mr. Gibbs." Gibbs drew his chair close to Bills’s desk, and, taking a package from his pocket, laid out the stamps. "One hundred sheets of twos, fifty of ones," he said. Bills had taken off his gold glasses and slowly lowered them to the end of their fine gold chain; he rubbed the little red marks the glasses left on the bridge of his nose, and in his manner there was an uncertainty that seemed unexpected by Gibbs. "I was about to suggest, Mr. Gibbs," said Bills, placing his fingers tip to tip, "that you see our Mr. Wilson; he manages the mail-order department, now." "Not for mine," said Gibbs decisively. "I’ve always done business with you. I don’t know this fellow Wilson." Bills, choosing to take it as a tribute, smiled and went on: "I think we’re fully stocked just now, but--how would a sixty per cent. proposition strike you?" "No," said Gibbs, as decisively as before. "No?" repeated Bills. "No," Gibbs went on, "seventy-five." Bills thought a moment, absently lifting the rustling sheets. "How many did you say there were?" "They come to one-fifty," said Gibbs; "count ’em." Bills did count them, and when he had done, he said: "That would make it one-twelve-fifty?" "That’s it." "Very well. Shall I pass the amount to your credit?"