"No, sir; I am a policeman, and I have come to you to get your aid. I understand that you receive a great deal of money for your campaign for purifying the city, and so I think you can help me in a certain work."
Trubus waved the four-carat ring deprecatingly.
"Ah, my young friend, you are in great error. I do not receive much money. We toil very ardently for the cause, but worldly pleasures and the selfishness of our fellow citizens interfere with our solving of the great task. We are far behind in our receipts. How lamentably little do we get in response to our requests for aid to charity!"
He followed Bobbie's incredulous glance at the luxurious furnishings of his office.
"Yes, yes, it is indeed a wretched state of affairs. Our efforts never cease, and although we have fourteen stenographers working constantly on the lists of people who could aid us, with a number of devout assistants who cover the field, our results are pitiable."
He leaned back in his leather-covered mahogany desk chair.
"Even I, the president of this association, give all my time to the cause. And for what? A few hundred dollars yearly—a bare modicum. I am compelled to eat this frugal luncheon of crackers and grape juice. I have given practically all of my private fortune to this splendid enterprise, and the results are discouraging. Even the furniture of this office I have brought down from my home in order that those who may come to discuss our movement may be surrounded by an environment of beauty and calm. But, money, much money. Alas!"
Just at this juncture the door opened and the telephone girl brought in a basket full of letters, evidently just received from the mail man.
"Here's the latest mail, Mr. Trubus. All answers to the form letters, to judge from the return envelopes."
Trubus frowned at her as he caught Burke's twinkling glance.