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 “The big boss. Harper’s known as ‘Ham’ so I call Maxwell ‘Eggs.’ Any bill-of-fare will tell you why. I guess that’s all for this hearing.”

Mrs. Loamford rose.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Borge,” she remarked. “Tt’s very kind of you to take such an interest.”

“It’s not,” said Tommy. “I’m paid for it. We give our clients pretty good service in this department. Now, Dot, don’t be scared of Miss Weatherby. She’s a ferociously attractive young woman, but she has a remarkable bean. We always try to start off interviews with her because she’s a sympathetic sort. You'll get some real hot piccolo players later, but Betty’s a good kid.”

The vulgarian in him still manifested himself, Dorothy thought. However, he had had sense enough never to talk to her in the style which he adopted for Miss Gray’s benefit.

“Piccolo players?” demanded Mrs. Loamford.

“Perhaps one of your daughter’s intimate gentlemen friends will be glad to furnish a glossary for that epithet,” explained Tommy. “As far as I’m concerned, you can use it as a generic term meaning unpleasant personalities.”

The bell again.

“Who? What does she look like? A queen? Tell her to wait a minute.” Vulgar. Not a doubt of it.

“Pm afraid we’re taking up your time,” observed Mrs. Loamford.

“Tv’s a lady to see me, says the chief houri of the switchboard. We'll let her wait.”

“No—we mustn’t detain you, Mr. Borge. Thank you so much!”

Mrs. Loamford pressed his hand effusively.

“Tt’s awfully good of you, Tommy,” concurred Dorothy.