Right in the midst of the recital, too, Old Hickory drifts out of his private office, and stands waitin’ with his ear cocked.  He has a report or something he wants to ask a question about, and I was lookin’ every minute to see him crash right in.  But Rupert is in high gear, and goin’ stronger all the while; so Mr. Ellins just stands there and listens.  The Cap. had got to the part where he describes this mysterious island with the mound in the middle, when Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders impatient.

“My good fellow,” says he, “whatever gave you the notion I would be interested in such rubbish?  Sorry, but your time is up.  Torchy, will you show Mr.—­er—­what’s-his-name to the elevator?”

Which I did as comfortin’ as I knew how.  Course, he’s feelin’ some hurt at bein’ choked off so abrupt, but he takes it calm enough.

“Oh, well,” says he, “perhaps I can find someone else who will appreciate that this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Sure you can,” says I.  “Broadway’s just lined with willin’ ears.”

I’d loaded him into an elevator and was strollin’ through the waitin’-room, when Old Hickory comes paddin’ out as slinky as a man of his weight can.

“Young man,” says he, “where is that Captain person?”

“About the tenth floor by now, sir,” says I.

“Bring him back,” says Mr. Ellins, sharp and snappy.  “Through the private entrance.  Understand?”

I nods and makes a dive into an upbound car that’s just makin’ a stop at the seventeenth.  “Hey, Jimmy, reverse her!  I’ll square you with the starter.  That’s it.  Shoot us down.”

So, when Rupert steps out on the ground floor, I’m there to take him by the arm and lead him back into the elevator.

“Why—­why, what’s the matter now?” he asks.

“Couldn’t say,” says I.  “Only you’re wanted again.  It’s the Big Boss this time—­Old Hickory Ellins himself.  And lemme put you hep to this, Cap’n; if that’s a phony tale you’re peddlin’, don’t try it on him.”

“But it’s all true—­every word of it,” insists Rupert.

“Even so,” says I, “I wouldn’t chance it on with Old Hickory.  He’s a hard-headed old plute, and that romance dope is likely to make him froth at the mouth.  If he starts in givin’ you the third degree, or anything like that, you’d better close up like a clam.  Here we are, and for the love of Pete draw it mild.”

You see, I hadn’t minded passin’ on a freak to Mr. Robert, for he often gets a laugh out of ’em.  But Mr. Ellins is different.  The site of his bump of humor is a dimple at the base of his skull, and if he traces up the fact that I’m the one who turned Rupert and his pirate yarn loose in the general offices my standin’ as a discriminating private sec. is goin’ to get a sad jolt.

So when Cap’n Killam has been in on the carpet near an hour, with no signs of his either havin’ been let out or fired through a window, I begins to get nervous.  Once Mr. Robert starts to go into Old Hickory’s sanctum; but he finds the door locked, and shortly after that he shuts his roll-top and leaves for the day.