Mallory turns the color of the candleshades and shakes his head. "You print any such rot as that about me," says he, "and I'll come down and wreck the office. I'm out of all that now, and into something that has opened my eyes to what sort of useless individual I am. Behold, Whitey, one of the unfit!"
Then Whitey wants to know all about it.
"It's nothing much," says Mallory, "only I've been sent out to do business with a Russian Baron, and I'm such a chump I can't even get within speaking distance of him."
"What Baron?" says Whitey. "Not Kazedky?"
"That's the identical one," says Mallory. "Don't happen to know him, do you?"
"I sure do," says Whitey. "Didn't he and I have a heart to heart session when that sporty Russian Prince was over here and got himself pinched at a prizefight? Kazedky was secretary of the legation then, and it was through me he got the story muffled."
"Wish you could find out where he is now," says Mallory.
"Don't have to," says Whitey; "I know. He's up in private dining-room No. 9. Been captured by a gang of Chamber of Commerce men, who are feeding him ruddy duck and terrapin and ten-dollar champagne. He's got a lot of steel contracts up his sleeve, you know, and——"
"Yes, I know," says Mallory; "but how can I get to see him?"
"Who are you with?" says Whitey.