Two gentlemen were seated, one March morning in 189-, in the private office of French and Company, Limited, on lower Broadway. Mr. Kirby, the junior partner-a man of thirty-five, with brown hair and mustache, clean-cut, handsome features, and an alert manner, was smoking cigarettes almost as fast as he could roll them, and at the same time watching the electric clock upon the wall and getting up now and then to stride restlessly back and forth across the room.
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