"Chairs, Boy!" says I, snappin' my fingers at Heiny. But Aunty catches her breath, draws herself up stiff, and waves away the seats. "Young man," says she, "I came here to consult with Mr. Robert Ellins about----" "Yes'm," says I, "I understand. Debenture six's, ain't they? Not affected by the reorganization, Ma'am. You see, it's like this: Those bonds were issued in exchange for----" "Young man," she breaks in, aimin' her lorgnette at me threatenin', "I prefer to discuss this matter with Mr. Robert." "Sorry," says I, "but as he's very busy he asked me to----" "And who, pray," snaps the old girl, "are you?" "Representin' the president of the Mutual Funding Comp'ny," says I. "Just how?" she demands. "Private secretary, Ma'am," says I. "Humph!" she snorts. "This is too absurd of Mr. Robert--wholly absurd! Come, Verona." And as she sails out I just has time for a glance at Vee, and catches a wink. Believe me, though, a friendly wink from one of them gray eyes is worth waitin' for! She follows Aunty through the door with a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth like she was smotherin' a snicker; so I guess Vee was on. And I'm left feelin' all warmed up and chirky. Mr. Robert comes in from his lawyer session just before closin' time; rubbin' his hands sort of satisfied too. "Well," says I, jumpin' up from the swing-chair, "it was some jolt you slipped Aunty. I expect I can resign now?" "Oh, I trust not," says he. "The board indorsed your appointment an hour ago. Keep your desk, Torchy. It is to be yours from now on." "Wh-a-a-at?" says I, my eyes bugged. "Off the gate for good, am I?" "We are hoping," says he, "that the gate's loss will be the Funding Company's gain." I gurgles gaspy a couple of times before I catches my breath. "Will it?" says I. "Say, just watch me! I'm goin' to show you that fundin' is my long suit!" CHAPTER II TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS Say, it's all right, gettin' the quick boost up the ladder, providin' you don't let it make you dizzy in the head. And, believe me, I was near it! You see, bein' jumped from office boy to private sec, all in one afternoon, was some breath-takin' yank. I expect the full force of what had happened didn't hit me until here the other mornin' when I strolls into the Corrugated gen'ral offices on the new nine o'clock schedule and finds this raw recruit holdin' down my old chair behind the rail. Nice, smooth-haired, bright-eyed youngster, with his ears all scoured out pink and his knickerbocker suit brushed neat. He hops up and opens the gate real respectful for me. "Well, Son," says I, "what does Mother call you?" "Vincent, Sir," says he. "Some class to that, too," says I. "But how do you know, Vincent, that I'm one of the reg'lar staff and not canvassin' for something?" "I don't, Sir," says he, "until I see if you know where to hang your hat." "Good domework, Vincent," says I. "On that I'm backin' you to hold the job."