A polite smile at what he thought an asinine joke started behind the cashier’s glasses, and changed to puzzlement when he looked at his assistant. The boy was rouge-red and the grin he was forcing his mouth to wear was a terrible thing.

Dritton cleared his throat and said heartily:

“It’s a splendid morning. We’ve been having splendid weather.”

“But isn’t there a private room where we can talk?” I insisted.

Dritton jumped nervously and questioned the boy:

“What⁠—what is this?”

Young Albury said something nobody could have understood.

I said: “If there isn’t I’ll have to take him down to the City Hall.”