Fred went back to his office reassured.  He had a feeling that in the end the committee would purge him or at least give him another chance.  It was inconceivable that they would pronounce the penalty of expulsion, although they might impose a fine.  He was so glad to be rid of Brauer, though, that he counted the whole circumstance as little short of providential.

He found a large mail at the office and quite a few remittances, but the Hilmer check was not in evidence.  He remembered now, with chagrin, that Hilmer was away for the day.  Still, there was a possibility that he had signed the check late last night.  He called up Hilmer’s office.  No, the check had not been signed.  Fred reminded the cashier that this was the last day to get the money into the companies.  But the watchdog of the Hilmer treasury had been through too many financial pressures to be disturbed.

“They’ll have to give us the usual five-day cancellation notice,” he returned, blandly.  “And payment will be made before the five days lapse.”

Fred hung up the phone and cursed audibly.  Of course a day or two or three wouldn’t have made any difference ordinarily.  But there was that damn check out to Brauer.  Well, he had told Brauer to hold it until Friday.  There was still another day.  He hated to go around and ask any further favors of his contemptible ex-partner, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to request another postponement to the formality of putting the Brauer check through.  Of course he had had no business making out a check for funds not in hand.  But under the circumstances...  What in hell was he worrying for?  Everything would come out all right.  What could Brauer do about it, anyway?  As a matter of fact, he figured that under the circumstances he had a perfect right to stop payment on that Brauer check if he had been so disposed.  For a moment the thought allured him.  But his surrender to such a petty retaliation, passed swiftly.  No, he wouldn’t tar himself with any such defiling brush.  He’d simply wipe Brauer from the slate and begin fresh.

He kept to his office all day.  He didn’t want to run afoul of either Kendrick or Brauer on the street, and, besides, with Helen away, it was a good day to clean up a lot of odds and ends that had been neglected during the pressure of soliciting business.  It was six o’clock when he slammed down his roll-top desk and prepared to leave.  He had planned to meet Helen for dinner at Felix’s.  He found himself a bit fagged and he grew irritated at the thought that prohibition had robbed him of his right of easy access to a reviving cocktail.  He knew many places where he could buy bad drinks furtively, but he resented both the method and the vileness of the mixtures.  He was putting on his coat when he heard a rap at the door.  He crossed over and turned the knob, admitting a man standing upon the threshold.

“Is this Mr. Starratt?” the stranger began.

Fred nodded.