ber of the committee you let him get away with murder."
"No member of the committee gets away with anything," Perry said sharply.
"Except ice cream and sodas at the Candy Kitchen?" Lewis retorted. "What do you think he goes over there for every day? I've heard him telling how he gets away with it."
Perry's hand shook a little as he entered Lewis' name and room number in his memorandum book. Abruptly, after that, he went off to look for Merritt, whom he knew he would find on the second floor. The chairman of the Safety Committee was standing near the head of the stairs, dejection in every line of his figure.
"Where's Jim Fry?" Perry demanded.
"Candy Kitchen," Merritt answered listlessly. "I—I think he's gone there to buy something; his talk of scouting for fellows who have skinned over there is just a blind. I saw him taking money from his pocket as he crossed the street."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do about it?"
"You can go over there and see what he's up to. I don't like this thing of spying on a committee member, but Jim Fry's been carrying his game too far. He's even been boasting of how he gets away with it. I heard that a little while ago.
