and if he’d eaten ‘Brain-more’ mush for breakfast, nothing would have happened.  We’ll try it, anyway, and there’s a triple-plate spoon in every package, so if I order a dozen ... and oh, yes, what was I going to say?  Why, I’m perfectly going to pull off the funniest stunt this afternoon; you’d just deliciously die laughing if I told you, but it will be still funnier if you don’t know.  Are you paying attention?  It’s because I’d already spent my allowance for three years and seven months ahead—­I figured it all out like a statement—­and I’ve perfectly just got to have some money of my real own.  I’ve enough to worry about without bringing money into it, with proper food for you and those patent laundry tubs I told you about, and the man says he wouldn’t think of letting it go for less than two seventy-five, but that’s five dollars saved.  Well, good-bye!  I’ll manage everything, and Granny says always to conceal little household worries from him, and just perfectly keep the future looking bright and interesting ... she says that’s the secret.  Good-bye!  What am I?”

“Startled fawn,” said Bean.

“Well, don’t forget.”

“I won’t.  I’ll attend to my part all right.”

He heard the fateful buzzing even before he opened the door of the telephone booth.  Breede was at it again.  He walked coolly to his desk for a note-book.  Every one else in the office was showing nervousness.  He was the only man who could still the troubled waters.  He would play the waiting game; keep the future looking “bright and interesting.”  Breede could do the rest.

“Buzz!  Buzz-z-z-z!  Buzz-z-z-z-z!” It sounded pretty vicious.

He entered Breede’s room with his accustomed air of quiet service.  Breede did not glance at him.  He began, as usual, to dictate before Bean was seated.

“Letter T.J.  Williams ’sistant sup’ntendent M.P. ‘n’ C. department C. ‘n’ L.M. rai’way Sh’-kawgo dear sir please note ’closed schej’l car ‘pairin’ make two copies send one don’t take that an’ let me have at y’r earles c’nvenience—­”

Apparently nothing at all had happened.  He was at his old post, and Breede did nothing but explode fragments of words as ever.  No talk of jail or betrayal of trust or of his morning’s flagrant absence.

One might have thought that Breede himself played the waiting game.  Or perhaps Breede only toyed with him.  He fastened his gaze on the criminal cuffs.  They were his rock of refuge in any cataclysm that might impend.  If only he could keep those cuffs within his range of vision he would fear nothing.  Patent laundry tubs; five dollars saved; why your husband failed in business; bright and interesting future—­

“’Lo!  ’Lo!” Breede was detonating into the desk-telephone which had sounded at his elbow.

“’Lo!  Well?  What?  Run off!  Stop nonsense!  Busy!” He hung up the receiver.

“—­also mus’ be stipulated that case of div’dend bein’ passed—­”