"Fierce, ain't it?" said Tommy smilingly. "But can he really read these books?" Whimple reiterated. "You should hear him and see him tackling the dictionary when he's stuck. Besides--I'm telling you everything mind in confidence--'Chuck' Epstein reads with him." "Epstein! Whew!--and in his day he was the greatest comedian of them all. And a Jew!" "And a man," said Tommy Watson with a note of challenge in his voice. "I've heard much of his kindnesses," Whimple said, "but know him only by sight." "He's a great friend of mine," said Tommy; "he spends nearly all his mornings here; has done since he retired from the stage. He's getting feeble, but his mind is as clear as ever, and his heart--well, his heart has never grown old." "William Adolphus Turnpike, Epstein, retired comedian, Tommy Watson, auctioneer," said Whimple softly, and then looking up he found Watson regarding him with a whimsical smile. "Us three, and no more--Amen, as the Three Guardsmen used to say," Tommy said. "Well, not exactly in those words," Whimple replied. "But meaning the same," Tommy retorted, "so what's the difference? Believe me," he went on, "the boy is safe with us. If his ambition sticks--why, he'll land." "You're a good sort, Tommy Watson," said Whimple warmly as he left the shop, "I wish I could do more to help the boy." "You're doing lots," said Tommy genially, "lots, and--well, the legal world'll take off its hat to you yet." CHAPTER IV Meanwhile our hero, as Vivian de Vere de Softley, the author of one thousand love stories, would say, was pensively leaning out of one of the office windows and thoughtfully taking pot shots at passers-by with a pea-shooter. Preferably he selected as his marks gentlemen who carried weight, and considered his best shot that which stung the ear of an elderly banker who wore a silk hat, and was detested by all who listened to his exhaustive speeches at banquets given by associations that could not afford to leave him off their programmes. The banker was exceedingly wrath, but as William was an expert in concealment, his victim was foiled in his attempts to discover the cause of the sudden stoppage of his flow of thought on his next great speech. The banker finally passed on, and William was aiming for his next shot when something struck him on the shoulder. He turned smartly to encounter the stern gaze of a lady, an elderly lady. Her parasol was descending for another blow, but William adroitly dodged it. Nothing daunted, she raised it again, and this time succeeded in rapping "our hero" smartly across the arm. William dropped to the floor, crawled under the table, rose again and waited. The lady walked gravely toward him, whereupon William again followed the under-the-table route, and finally flopped into a chair by his own desk. The lady regarded these manoeuvres with a gleam of anger in her fine dark eyes.