He grinned down on the shorter man, who in his turn laughed outright.
"Office-boy? What nonsense! Where have I seen you before? What is your name?"
"Quinby Graham, sir."
"Drop the sir, for heaven's sake. I'm no officer. Where in the dickens have I met you? Oh! wait a second, I've got it! Sunday night. We were out somewhere together——"
"Hold on there," said Quin. "You were out together, but I was out by myself. We met at your door."
"So you were the chap that played the good Samaritan? Well, it was damned clever of you, old man. I'm glad of a chance to thank you. I hadn't touched a drop for six weeks before that, but you see——"
Mr. Bangs's metallic voice was heard in the outer office, and the two younger men started.
"You bet I see!" said Quin sympathetically as he hurried out to inform the senior member of the firm that the junior member awaited his pleasure.
What happened at that interview was recounted to him by Miss Leaks, the little drab-colored stenographer, who had returned from lunch when the storm was at its height.
"It's a wonder Mr. Ranny don't kill that old man for the way he sneers at him," she said indignantly to Quin, "Why, I wouldn't take off him what Mr. Ranny does! But then, what can he do? His mother keeps him here for a mouth-piece for her, and Mr. Bangs knows it. It's no wonder he drinks, hitched up to a cantankerous old hyena like that. He never can stand up for himself, but he stood up for you all right."