“Never too busy to be of service to you, Miss Killigrew.  I’m only scribbling.”

“A book?”—­interestedly.

“Bally rot, possibly.  Would you like to read it?”—­one of the best inspirations he had ever had.  He was not one of those silly individuals who hem and haw when some one discovers they have the itch for writing, whose sole aim is to have the secret dragged out of them, with hypocritical reluctance.

“May I?” Her friendly aloofness fell away from her as if touched by magic.  “I am an inveterate reader.  Besides, I know several famous editors, and perhaps I could help you.”

“That would be jolly.”

“And you are writing a story, and never told us about it!”

“It never occurred to me to tell you.  I shall be very glad to go to the theater with you and Mrs. Killigrew.”

Kitty tucked the romance under her arm and flew to her room with it. 
This Thomas was as full of surprises as a Christmas-box.

He eyed the empty doorway speculatively.  He rather preferred the friendly aloofness; otherwise some fatal nonsense might enter his head.  He resumed his chair and transferred his gaze to the blotter.  He added a few pothooks by the way:  numerals in addition and subtraction (for he was of Scotch descent), a name which he scratched out and scrawled again and again scratched out.  He examined the contents of his wallet.  How many pounds did a dress-suit cost in this hurly-burly country?  This question could be answered only in one way.  He hastened out into the hall, put on his hat, made for the subway, and got out directly opposite the offices of Killigrew and Company, sugar, coffee and spices.  London-bred, it did not take him long to find his way about.  The racket disturbed him; that was all.

The building in which Killigrew and Company had its offices belonged to Killigrew personally.  It had cost him a round million to build, but the office-rentals were making it a fine investment.  These ornate office-buildings caused Thomas to marvel unceasingly.  In London cubby-holes were sufficient.  If merchants like Killigrew, generally these were along the water-front; creaky, old, dim-windowed.  In this bewildering country a man conducted his business as from a palace.  The warehouses were distinct establishments.

Thomas entered the portals, stepped cautiously into one of the express-elevators (so they insisted upon calling them here), and was shot up to the fourteenth floor, all of which was occupied by Killigrew and Company.  It was Thomas’ first venture in this district.  And he learned the amazing fact that it was ordinarily as easy to see Mr. Killigrew as it was to see King George.  Office-boys, minor clerks, head clerks, managers; they quizzed and buffeted him hither and thither.  He never thought to state at the outset that he was Mrs. Killigrew’s private secretary; he merely said that it was very important that he should see Mr. Killigrew at once.