“Go to work somewhere else!” he snapped.

“As a shipping clerk?”

“I should say not.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’ll find something.”

“At a salary of over five thousand dollars a year?”

“Yes.”

Virginia shrugged her shoulders.  Curtly she said: 

“Don’t be foolish.”

Fanny nodded approval.

“I think myself you’d better stick to Robert,” she said.

Folding his arms, the young man faced the two women.  Indignantly he cried: 

“You two talk as though I was getting my salary out of charity—­as though Mr. Stafford was handing me something!  Well, I tell you he isn’t.  There’s no friendship in business, and if I wasn’t worth a hundred I wouldn’t get it!  I’m a valuable man to your husband.  I’ve put him onto four or five good things in Wall Street already.  Did he tell you about ’em?”

“No,” said Virginia, shaking her head.

“I did, just the same,” he went on exultantly, “and if he followed my advice and played it strong he must have made half a million or so just out of my tips!  I’m not conceited—­not a bit—­but I know what I can do!  I know—­”

Before he had completed the sentence the telephone rang.  Virginia quickly took the receiver.  After listening a moment, she said: 

“Thank you!” Replacing the instrument, she turned to the others and said quietly: 

“Robert has just come in.”

Jimmie had still grievances to ventilate.  Peevishly he exclaimed: 

“There’s another thing.  Why shouldn’t I call him Robert the same as you and Fanny do?”

“Has he objected?” asked Virginia, a slight smile hovering around her mouth.

“No,” he answered; “I never tried it!  I feel like a fool, though, at the office.  Everybody knows he’s my brother-in-law, and yet I have to call him ‘Mr. Stafford,’ just as though he was no relation at all.  Do you think he’d mind if I called him Robert?”

“You must be the judge of that,” she replied evasively.

Just then there was a rap on the door.

“Come,” called out Virginia.

The door opened and Stafford entered.

CHAPTER XIV

As the millionaire advanced into the room it was easy to see that he was not himself.  His face was flushed, his eyes brilliant, his gait awkward and uncertain.  The bosom of his full dress shirt was rumpled and his white tie awry.  He had every appearance of having just come from some midnight orgy, and, like most roysterers who take their wine joyously, he was in the highest spirits.  Making with his right arm a wide sweeping gesture meant to include all present in a general salutation, he hiccoughed: 

“Ev’ning, everybody!”

He stood still in the centre of the room, maintaining with difficulty the centre of gravitation and grinning upon each in turn.