As Leon passed through the outer office he encountered Ike Herzog of the Bon Ton Credit Outfitting Company, who was solacing himself with the Daily Cloak and Suit Record in the interval of his waiting.

“Good morning, Mr. Herzog,” Leon exclaimed.  “So you got your troubles, too.”

“I ain’t got no troubles, Leon,” Ike Herzog said, “but I got to use a lawyer in my business once in awhile.  Just now I’m enlarging my place, and I got contracts to make and new people to hire.  I hope you ain’t got no law suits nor nothing.”

“Law suits ain’t in my line, Mr. Herzog,” Leon said.  “Once in awhile I change my working people, too.  That’s why I come here.”

“Sometimes you change ’em for the worse, Leon,” Herzog commented, indicating Abe Potash’s effective ad with a stubby forefinger.  “You certainly made a mistake when you got rid of Louis Grossman.  He’s turning out some elegant stuff for Potash & Perlmutter.”

Leon nodded gloomily.

“Well, we all make mistakes, Mr. Herzog,” he said, “and that’s why we got to come here.”

“That’s so,” Herzog agreed, as Leon opened the door.  “I hope I ain’t making no mistake in what I’m going to do.”

“I hope not,” Leon said as he passed out.  “Good morning.”

Ike Herzog’s interview with Henry D. Feldman was short and very much to his satisfaction, for when he emerged from Feldman’s sanctum, to find Abe Potash waiting without, he could not forbear a broad smile.  Abe nodded perfunctorily and a moment later was closeted with the oracle.

“Mr. Feldman,” he said, “I come to ask you an advice, and as I’m pretty busy this morning, do me the favor and leave out all them caveat emptors.”

“Sure thing,” Feldman replied.  “Tell me all about it.”

“Well, then, Mr. Feldman,” said Abe, “I want to get rid of Louis Grossman.”

Mr. Feldman almost jumped out of his chair.

“I want to fire Louis Grossman,” Abe repeated.  “You remember that you drew me up a burglar-proof contract between him and us a few weeks ago, and now I want you to be the burglar and bust it up for me.”

Feldman touched the button on his desk.

“Bring me the draft of the contract between Potash & Perlmutter and Louis Grossman that I dictated last month,” he said to the boy who answered.

In a few minutes the boy returned with a large envelope.  He was instructed never to come back empty-handed when asked to bring anything, and, in this instance the envelope held six sheets of folded legal cap, some of which contained the score of a pinochle game, played after office hours on Saturday afternoon between the managing clerk and the process-server.

Feldman put the envelope in his pocket and retired to a remote corner of the room.  There he examined the contents of the envelope and, knitting his brows into an impressive frown, he took from the well-stocked shelves that lined the walls book after book of digests and reports.  Occasionally he made notes on the back of the envelope, and after the space of half an hour he returned to his chair and prepared to deliver himself of a weighty opinion.