He had charge of
the check book, and he alone signed the firm's name outside of the
partners. "Rather young," one of them protested, until he looked
into the boy's face, then he gave his consent; something better
than years of experience and discretion are wanted where a scratch
of a pen might mean financial ruin.
Breen had preceded him with but a nod to his clerks, and had
disappeared into his private office--another erection of ground
glass and mahogany. Here the senior member of the firm shut the
door carefully, and turning his back fished up a tiny key attached
to a chain leading to the rear pocket of his trousers. With this
he opened a small closet near his desk--a mere box of a closet--
took from it a squatty-shaped decanter labelled "Rye, 1840,"
poured out half a glass, emptied it into his person with one gulp,
and with the remark in a low voice to himself that he was now
"copper fastened inside and out"--removed all traces of the
incident and took up his morning's mail.
By this time the circle of chairs facing the huge blackboard in
the spacious outer office had begun to fill up.
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