The Substitute Millionaire Page #2

								


Behind the fright in the eyes of the thin office-boy and the pale typist, gleamed a wondering delight.  Never had such words been heard in that place!

"Get out of here!  Get out of here!" roared Fisher on the verge of apoplexy.  "Get out before I throw you out!"

"As to that," said Jack, "you're not man enough," and he took a step nearer the boss.

Fisher precipitately retired into his private office, slamming the door behind him.  The office boy tittered, and clapped a scared hand over his mouth.  Jack turned on his heel, and coolly lit a cigarette--lit it and blew a whole cloud of smoke, there in those sacred precincts!  The eyes of the other two regarded him with a kind of adoration.

From behind the partition Fisher was still shouting: "Get out!  You're fired!"

"Much obliged," said Jack.  "It was worth it."

But even while he spake the brave words his heart was sinking like a stone in deep water.  It was Wednesday, and his salary was always spent in advance of course.  All he possessed in the world was a dollar twenty and his watch--fortunately out of hock for the time being.  By this time, he thought Fisher was probably sorry too, and would take him back at a word of contrition--but with those admiring eyes on him, he could not speak it.

"So long, Kids," he said airily, and started for the door.

"Oh, wait a minute," said the boy.  "Here's a letter for you this morning."

Jack thrust it carelessly into his pocket and went on down-stairs.  At the street door he stopped at a loss.  Turned loose on the street at nine o'clock of a working morning, which way was one to turn?  He glanced across the street again, the window was still vacant.  Anyway, he couldn't very well see her, jobless as he was.  Better just drop of sight.  This thought cost him a shrewd pang.  He started walking quickly in the direction opposite to that whence she would presently come.

He remembered the letter and took it out.  Letters were not so frequent in his life that he could afford to disdain them.  This was a business envelope, large, square, and made of thick, fine paper.  "National New York Bank" was neatly embossed on the flap.  It was addressed in long-hand, an untidy but powerful scrawl.

"Some high-class ad," thought Jack.  "Want to sell me bonds, I suppose."  He chuckled with bitter humor.

Inside he found this communication in the same hand:

"Dear Mr. Norman:

"Will you please call me up at my office to-morrow morning.  I shall arrive there about nine-thirty.  The number of my private phone is ---- Broad.  You will not find it in the book.

  "Very truly yours,
      "Walter Delamare."

Jack, being a true American youth, regarded this skeptically.  "What kind of a con is he handing me?" he thought.  "Who the deuce is Walter Delamare?"

The name rang familiarly in his ears.  He glanced at the note head again.  Under the name of the bank was printed: "Office of the President."  Of course!  Walter Delamare, President of the National New York Bank.  His name was in the papers every day.  It wielded a magic influence in the nation.
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