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 Henry straightened. "I was satisfied with Mr. Boland's simple assurance. Is he not satisfied with mine?"

"Of course he's satisfied with it, Henry," assured Scanlon, who assumed a fatherly manner. "That's just the habit of his mind. The letter—the letter—the letter of the contract—the letter of the law. That's Old Two Blades—to the last hair in his pernickety disposition. Remember that and it will help you a lot in dealing with him."

"Pernickety?" Henry stuck at the word. "I thought he was most reasonable."

"Reasonable, yes. But he wants what he wants the way he wants it. Give him that and he's reasonable. Most men are." Scanlon laughed; but it was a laugh of admiration, of devotion as of one who knew and loved the very weaknesses of his chief. "How soon can I talk to you, Henry, on this?"

"Oh, soon as I can get a bath and a beefsteak," consented Harrington.

"All right, come to my office at eight o'clock," proposed Scanlon.

"Your office?" demurred Henry. "It's you after me, isn't it?"

Scanlon hunched his shoulder as if someone had popped an awl into it. "Oh, all right," he smiled amiably, admiringly even; after a moment—"Your office it is." He gripped Henry's hand heartily; in turning from him he encountered that steadily augmenting group about the hotel door. "Say, you fellows!" he announced in friendly tones. "Henry's back; bunged up a little but not hurt. He nipped into 'em just as we figured; but they shook him off. He didn't