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be done to stop this sort of thing in our tradespeople. I hope you will understand and act accordingly.”

“I can’t believe it!” he muttered, as he made his way to where the girl stood watching him with half-closed, defiant eyes.

He coughed importantly as he halted before her, and hesitated as he noted her expression and her mocking “Good-morning.” Patricia Weybourn was nobody’s fool. He knew that from experience. That was why he had given her charge of his new branch.

But he couldn’t have his customers slapped in public, not in these days. In the good days, yes. It would have been good advertising. Now, with business going to pieces, it spelled ruination.

“Good morning, Pat,” he replied with a paternal smile, changing his mind about being autocratic. “What is this I hear about your slapping the customers’ faces in public? Is that true?”

“So far, I have slapped only one of them, Mr. Ezekiel,” Patricia answered coldly. “I hope to extend operations shortly. But you did not advise me you were coming down.”

“I didn’t have time. Mrs. Langham wired me urgently to come down, and I———”

“Very thoughtful of Mrs. Langham, I’m sure. I must thank her.”

Mr. Ezekiel made an impatient gesture.

“Don’t you go slapping faces again, Pat,” he commanded. “I can’t afford it. What becomes of the business when you go slapping faces? Have you thought of that? Where does the business go?”

“Where all your letters have told me it is going—to hell, Mr. Ezekiel,” answered the girl sweetly. “But that doesn’t concern me———”

Mr. Ezekiel stared.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he repeated, amazed and wrathful. “What is the matter with you? Has this earthquake sent you crazy, or what? What do I pay you money for? To come here and slap my customers,