New-York tribune., 1920-07-25
n p ARNEY, as telegraph boy,
* had once been summoned to

Theater by an indignant star
who had refused to intrust his mes
sage to any but official hands. And
he had once been called to a grated
Office in the Tombs to take tele-
gram from a looking ell
derly gentleman in handouts.
1t was chiefly from the memories
of these two experiences that Bar
ney constructed his expectation of
what he was to find when he should
Nnter the private Offices and opera
tives' rooms of the Babbing Detec-
tive Bureau, to report for duty.
AS, for example, Babbing, in his
sanctum, at makeup table, gum
ming false mustache to his lip, his
dresser waiting to hand him wig
and revolver, the room pictur-
esquely hung with costumes and dis
guises, handouts and leg-irons,
dodgers that offered rewards for
desperate captures ("dead or alive')
and sets of burglars tools and the
weapons of outlawry, the latter ar
ranged decoratively on the walls af-
ter the manner of collection Of
trophies.
And Barney's better Judgment ac-
cepted that picture from his inebri-
ated young imagination without
really knowing that he had accepted
it--until he was called from the out
er public Office of the bureau into
Babbing's private room, and found
the famous detective sitting at a
table desk, in a swivel-chair, read
ing his morning mail like the mana
ger Of any successful business at
work in the Office Of any successful
business manager. "Sit down." Bab-
bing said, without looking at him.
Barney sat down against the wall
He was conscious of the stimulating
disappointment-the interested sur
prise in disillusion-that reality
gives to the alert, romantic mind, so
to speak.
The Office was as commonplace and
average as Babbing's conventional
business clothes. There was moth
ing on the walls but some framed
photographs of office groups. There
was no furniture on the desk but
telephone instruments, pens and ink,
paper-weights. and some shallow
wire baskets that were filled with
letters, kilograms and typewriter
reports. There was, in fact, nothing
interesting in the room but Babbing,
and Babbing looked as uninteresting
and ordinary as the room.
His letters had been opened for
him, the pages flattened out, and the
envelopes attached to them with
paper-clips. His right hand reached
a sheet from wire basket at one
side of the desk. and put it on the
blotter before him, his left hand held
it for moment for his eyes to read
it, and then carried it to one of the
baskets on the other side Of the desk
and dropped it automatically in its
proper place; his right hand mean
while had produced the next letter.
His eyes moved only from sheet to
sheet.
"Did you tell your mother about
the case you were on yesterday?"
"No, SIR"
The left hand passed letter back
to the right. The right hand dropped
1t in the wastebasket.
What did you tell her7"
Il toP her | had a new Job"
"As detective?"
II was scared to tell her that.
She'd "a thought it was the same as
policeman"
"Well?" The left hand pressed a
call button. Suppose she didw
"She'd "a thought 1 was goin' to
get killed."
Babbing turned his head to look
over his glasses at the boy.
Like your father?"
Barney smiled an apology for the
absurdity of mothers. eyes, sir"
A clerk opened the door. Babbing
tossed letter across the table to
hin,
"Find out who that fellow Is.
Right away"
The clerk reported: "Mr. Snider
has just come in" Babbing con-
tinued with his reading. The clerk
went out, ignored even by Barney
as the commanders civilian secre-
tary would be ignored by young
uniform.
SO you told her what?"
Il tol' her l was waitin' in an Of
fee with telegram yesterday ~
they wanted an office boy, 'n'-they
offered me twelve a week. An I
took it,"