Hanging beside the four generations were the commissions of the fire companies locally represented in the Osgood office. Stout old companies they were, too, for the most part; one of the older ones was well in the second century of its triumph over fire and the fear of fire and the ashes thereof; this was a foreign company which Osgood held for old sake's sake. The other commissions bore American signatures, most of them well known and well esteemed. On the wall right above where Smith sat was the gold seal of his own company, the Guardian, and against the seal the inexplicable hieroglyph which served Mr. James Wintermuth for his presidential signature. Then there was the great white sheet with the black border which set forth to all the world by these presents that Silas Osgood and Company were the duly accredited agents of the Atlantic Fire Insurance Company of Hartford, Connecticut. The narrow placque of the old Birmingham Indemnity of Birmingham, England, looked like a calling card beside the Atlantic's flamboyant placard. Smith, seeing Mr. Osgood's look fixed for a moment on the parchment above his head, said inquiringly, "How long is it that you have represented the Guardian in Boston?" The older man smiled reflectively and turned his eyeglass in his hand as he spoke. "It was the year after the big fire when I first took the Guardian into my office. You are a close enough student of the game to know that that was just about forty years ago." Smith nodded. "Before Richard Smith was born. But I remember the date. Who appointed you as agent?" Mr. Osgood pointed to the scrawl at the foot of the framed commission. "My old friend, James Wintermuth," he said. He paused a moment. "I can almost see him now as he looked when he came to call on me--in the old office farther down the street. Tall and quick-tempered, and you can imagine how strong in the fingers he was in those days! I recall I used to keep my glove on when I shook hands with him. He was a fine young chap, was James. Perhaps a _little_ too hasty for us conservative New Englanders, but--" He broke off, a half-smile on his lips. Smith remained silent. "It's a fault you young New Yorkers are apt to have," the Bostonian presently went on. "Most of you are a trifle aggressive for us over here--just a bit radical." The other laughed good-naturedly.