"Why," says I, "I expect they're some of the young sports on the general office staff." "Huh!" he grunts. "Why Crabs?" I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that. "I notice," says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one feature of the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of 'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just what does that mean?" "Couldn't say exactly," says I. "I wasn't there." "Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But you understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private secretary. I--er--it will be treated as confidential." "Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do." "Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will notify Mr. Piddie to that effect." "Ye-e-es, sir," says I, sort of draggy. He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" says he. "No," says I. "Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own," he goes on, "we will review the case against this young man. He was one of three who won a D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called in by Mr. Piddie last fall." "Yes, I know," says I. "That squint-eyed bird who sprung his brain tests on the force and let on he could card index the way your gray matter worked by askin' a lot of nutty questions. I remember. Brink Hollis was guyin' him all the while and he never caught on. Had the whole bunch chucklin'over it. One of Piddie's fads, he was." Old Hickory waves one hand impatient. "Perhaps," says he. "I don't mean to say I value that book psychology rigamarole very highly myself. Cost us five hundred, too. But I've had an eye on that young man's work ever since, and it hasn't been brilliant. This bond summary is a sample. It's a mess." "I don't doubt it!" says I. "But if I'd been Piddie I think I'd have hung the assignment for that on some other hook than Hollis's. He didn't know what a bond looked like until a year ago and that piece of work called for an old hand." "Possibly, possibly," agrees Old Hickory. "It seems he is clever enough at this sort of thing, however," and he waves the program. I couldn't help smotherin' a chuckle. "Am I to infer," says Mr. Ellins, "that this He-Crab act of his was humorous?" "That's what they tell me," says I. "You see, right after dinner Brink was missin' and everybody was wonderin' what had become of him, when all of a sudden he bobs up through a tin-foil lake in the middle of the table and proceeds to do this crab impersonation in costume. They say it was a scream." "It was, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "And the Old He-Crab referred to--who was that?" "Who do you guess, Mr. Ellins?" says I, grinnin'. "H-m-m-m," says he, rubbin' his chin. "I can't say I'm flattered. Thinks I'm an old crab, does he?" "I expect he does," I admits.