McGibbon eyed it alertly.
'Here!' he said, his hand moving up toward the row of four or five cigars that projected from a vest pocket, 'smoke up, you fellows.'
Henry shook his head. Humphrey drew out his pipe; then raised his head, and said quietly:—
'Listen!'
There came the unmistakable sound of heavy feet on the stairs. Steadily, step by step, a slowly moving body mounted.
Then, framed in the doorway, stood the huge bulk of Norton P. Boice, breathless, red, and wet of face, his old straw hat pushed back, his yellowish-white, wavy beard covering his necktie and the upper part of his roundly protruding, slightly spotted vest, against which the heavy watch chain with its dangling fraternal insignia stood out prominently.
Boice's eyes, nearly expressionless, finally settled on Humphrey.
'What are you doing here?' he asked, between puffs.
Humphrey's only reply was a slight impatient gesture.
'You oughta be at your desk.'