"Well, here it is: Don't youse think youse got a pretty bum foreman on the St. Etienne job?" "What business is that of yours?" "Won't youse talk in a little more of a Christian spirit, Mr. Driscoll?" It was half a minute before Mr. Driscoll could speak in any kind of a spirit. "Will you please come to the point!" "Why, I'm there already," the walking delegate returned sweetly. "As I was sayin', don't youse think your foreman on the St. Etienne job is a pretty bum outfit?" "Keating?--I never had a better." "D'youse think so? Now I was goin' to suggest, in a friendly way, that youse get another man in his place." "Are you running my business, or am I?" "If youse'd only talk with a little more Christian----" The eyes clicked. The members of the church to which Mr. Driscoll belonged would have stuffed fingers into their horrified ears at the language in which Foley was asked to go to a place that was being prepared for him. Foley was very apologetic. "I'm too busy now, an' I don't get my vacation till August. Then youse ain't goin' to take my advice?" "No! I'm not!" The walking delegate stopped purring. He leaned forward, and the claws pushed themselves from out their flesh-pads. "Let's me and youse make a little bet on that, Mr. Driscoll. Shall we say a thousand a side?" Driscoll's eyes and Foley's battled for a moment. "And if I don't do it?" queried Mr. Driscoll, abruptly. "I don't like to disturb youse by talkin' about unpleasant things. It would be too bad if you didn't do it. Youse really couldn't afford any more delays on the job, could youse?" Mr. Driscoll made no reply. Foley stood up, again purring. "It's really good advice, ain't it? I'll send youse round a good man in the mornin' to take his place. Good-by." As Foley passed out Mr. Driscoll savagely brushed the papers before him to one side of his desk, crushing them into a crumpled heap, and sat staring into the pigeon-holes. He sent for Mr. Berman, who after delivering an opinion in favor of Foley's proposition, departed for his own office, pausing for a moment to lean over the desk of the fair secretary. Presently, with a great gulp, Mr. Driscoll touched a button on his desk and Miss Arnold appeared within the doorway. She was slender, but not too slender. Her heavy brown hair was parted in the middle and fell over either end of her low, broad forehead. The face was sensitive, sensible, intellectual. Persons chancing into Mr. Driscoll's office for the first time wondered how he had come by such a secretary. "Miss Arnold, did you ever see a jelly fish?" he demanded. "Yes." "Well, here's another." "I can't say I see much family resemblance," smiled Miss Arnold. "It's there, all right. We ain't got any nerve." "It seems to me you are riding the transmigration of soul theory at a pretty hard pace, Mr. Driscoll. Yesterday, when you upset the bottle of ink, you were a bull in a china shop, you know."