'You dirty little hound,' said Selwyn, without relaxing in the least the shaking process, 'if you ever use my name again, or send out anything written, or supposed to be written, by me, I'll'——
For once words failed him, and lifting the little man almost off the floor, he deposited him violently on his own desk, in the midst of the pool formed by the ink.
'Nix on the war!' snorted Selwyn defiantly, putting on his hat. He was going to add a few more crushing remarks, but, altering his mind, went out, slamming the door so violently that all the typewriters engaged in sending out German propaganda were startled into an instant of silence.
As for Mr. Schneider, he sat still amidst the wreck of his desk, pondering over a famous definition of war given by an American general named Sherman.
II.
Without waiting to catch the driver's eye, the impetuous idealist overtook an empty taxi-cab, and jumped into it.
'United Manufacturing, 28th Street,' he called. 'Make it fast.'
On arrival at his destination he found that Mr. C. B. Benjamin was the president of the United Manufacturing Corporation, which—so a large calendar stated—was the biggest business of its kind in the universe. It had more branches, more output, more character, more push than any other three enterprises in America.
Mr. Benjamin was in, but could be seen only by appointment, so said a sleek-haired young man of immaculate dress.
'Give him that card, and tell him I want to see him at once,' said Selwyn, with a forcefulness that caused a look of pain to cross the young man's countenance.