"Pitch in and do your choking before you forget it," Bob replied.
The irate old man made a grab at his throat. Bob dodged back, and they both fell to the floor, their chairs upsetting with quite a clatter. In an instant Fred grappled the old fellow's legs and dragged him from Bob. Bob sprang to his feet, seized an inkstand on the desk and dashed its contents all over the old broker's face and bosom. Some of it got into his eyes and blinded him.
Just then two brokers came in and separated them.
"Who is it, Halsey?" one of them asked.
"Mr. Bowles. He is away off his balance."
The two brokers laughed at the plight of the old man. His best friend could not have recognized him covered as he was with ink. As if ashamed of what he had done, Bowles scrambled to his feet, hurried out of the office and made a break for his own quarters. But his appearance on the street caused a sensation. Some boys saw him, and set up a series of yells that brought a crowd about him in less than half a minute. An officer ran up, looked hard at him for a moment or two and then collared him.
"That's all right, officer," the old man said. "Just a little accident, that's all."
"But you can't draw a crowd and obstruct the street this way," the officer replied. "Who are you?"
"I am Bowles, the broker. One of the oldest in the Street."
"What! Are you Mr. Bowles?"