As Hezekiah departed through the outer office, he interrupted a conversation between Mr. Jones and Kelly.
The stenographer met the intrusion with characteristic activity. Rushing to his desk, he seized the recently typed letters and bore them into Obadiah’s presence. His haste, if noted by the attorney, should have indicated that prolonged presence in the throne room had resulted in marked delay to the normal performance of imperial functions.
Apparently Hezekiah’s mind was engrossed by lighter matters. He moved spryly, whistling a cheery melody not at present in vogue but much in favor in his youth.
Mr. Jones came out of Obadiah’s room hurriedly. The sound of stern reproof came also, until it was shut off by the closing of the door. It seemed as if the spirit of the stenographer expanded in relief, in the familiar atmosphere of his own domain; as one who, having accomplished a hazardous journey, returns to the peace of his own fireside.
He entered Kelly’s room with great dignity. Taking a position in the center, he raised his arms horizontally, inhaled a deep breath, bowed deeply, straightened up, exhaled, rose on his toes, descended, and dropped his arms.
The massive Kelly viewed this athletic exhibition with interest. “What’s that exercise for?” he demanded.
Mr. Jones yawned. “It gives me relaxation from the strain,” he answered.
“What strain? Where did you strain yourself?” asked Kelly with kindly interest in his friend’s welfare.
“The office responsibility,” explained the stenographer. “It knocks the sap out of a fellow.” He lighted a cigarette.
“Oh, is that it?” Kelly gave a cruel laugh. “I thought you had sprung something. If you do that exercise often, young fellow, you’ll bust a lung. Let’s see you do it again,” urged the bookkeeper, as if desirous of witnessing the fulfillment of his prophecy.