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|ALL day long, New York, stewing in the rays of a late August sun, had been growing warmer and warmer, until now, at three o'clock in the afternoon, its inhabitants, with the exception of a little group gathered together on the tenth floor of the Wilmot Building on Upper Broadway, had divided themselves by a sort of natural cleavage into two main bodies—the one crawling about and asking those they met if this was hot enough for them, the other maintaining that what they minded was not so much the heat as the humidity.
The reason for the activity prevailing on the tenth floor of the Wilmot was that a sporting event of the first magnitude was being pulled off there—Spike Murphy, of the John B. Pyneent Export and Import Company, being in the act of contesting the final of the Office Boys' High-Kicking Championship against a willowy youth from the Consolidated Eyebrow Tweezer and Nail File Corporation.
The affair was taking place on the premises of the former firm, before a small but select audience consisting of a few stenographers, chewing gum, some male wage slaves in shirt sleeves, and Mr. John B. Pynsent's nephew, Samuel Shotter, a young man of agreeable features, who wag acting as referee.
In addition to being referee, Sam Shotter was also the patron and promoter of the tourney ; the man but for whose vision and enterprise a wealth of young talent would have lain undeveloped, thereby jeopardizing America's chances should an event of this kind ever be added to the programme of the Olympic Games. It was he who, wandering about the office