It was the next day at luncheon when the cheerful James was given reason to think less happily of his exploit, and to wonder what happened to a worm that turned once too often. The newspapers contained the statements that the wires were now open to Princetown and that in that flourishing city dwelt a man whose feelings were outraged, who was indignant, who asserted he had not been in Yimville on the day of the speech, in fact had never in his life made a speech in Yimville, and that if he had made a speech in Yimville he most certainly would not—never, never, never—have expressed the sentiments so brazenly attributed to him. He was an office seeker in the interests of public rather than personal welfare, and for no other reason. He had yielded to the overwhelming petitions of his friends, indeed, not without considerable pain. And then Jimmy read something that for the first time caused him to appreciate the possible grave consequences of his ebullient imposture:

"'I am not at the moment in a position to make any definite and specific charges,' his Honor told the representative of the Morning Star: 'but I have certain well-defined grounds for believing that the citizens of Yimville, for whom I have the most profound respect and admiration, knowing that they include some of the most intellectual and patriotic ladies and gentlemen in the whole of the United States, have been imposed upon by an individual who (I have been told) faintly resembles me as far as personal appearance is involved. Yet how this person, who is, I regret to say, but a common, vulgar ignoramus, could have the barefaced effrontery to address an intelligent audience either in his own or an assumed character, I can not comprehend. Needless to say I shall at once take steps to learn the truth, and the impostor shall be made to suffer the extreme penalties of the law providing for the punishment of such flagrant acts against the public and private welfare of duly constituted citizens. The world must be made safe for Democracy. Those who are guilty of lack of observance for those common and well-defined and closely stipulated rules that govern the intercourse existing between individuals or those collections of individuals which are in turn by mutual consent formed into committies, must hereafter be consistently regulated by those able to dictate either by force of arms or the divine influence of reason, until they can no longer prove a menace to the rules governing, by consent of the governed and the voice of the governed, human relations in general, in particular, and in private.'"

Jimmy pondered over the last sentence a long time.

"I suppose he means 'The guilty shall be punished,'" he said, and then added, admiringly, "By gosh! If he were a Democrat he'd be president of the United States yet. He surely would! He can use more words to say less than any other man living, and, come to think of it, he has the greatest assets of stupidity, which are pompous silence, and a patronizing grin. The art of so obfuscating his expression with words that neither his friends nor his enemies can come to any positive conclusion as to what he means. But if I'm not mistaken, this same J. Woodworth-Granger, Judge by election, is after the scalp of one James Gollop, drummer for a living, and—humph!—wonder when the next train leaves that will take me out of this state's jurisdiction? It seems to me, Jim, that you should be on your way. Good Lord! Some men can never take a joke! The idea of raising such a fuss over a little thing like that!"

And, so potent was his increasing apprehension, Mr. James Gollop did not actually smile again until seven-thirty that evening, when he received a reply to a question addressed to the conductor of the eastbound train.

"Are we over the state line yet?" was the question asked.

"By about thirty miles, I should reckon," was the reply.

"Thank heaven for that!" said Mr. Gollop, resuming a placid mental attitude, and the celebrated Gollop grin. "It's a wise man who knows where he's not welcome. Both celebrity and notoriety are distinctions to be shunned. A mud-cat is the most secure of all fish because nobody wishes to either catch and eat, or play with and caress him. His sole virtue is his obscurity, the sharpness of his bones his only protection. I'd rather be a catfish than a salmon after all!"

And the conductor, passing on his way with his nickel-plated lantern deftly anchored by his arm and his nickel-plated punch industriously working in his hand, mumbled, "Happy man! He's got just what he wants. Wish I was general passenger agent of this line. I'm not a catfish because I want to be one. He seems to be—just that!"



CHAPTER IX

Jimmy retired to the smoking compartment in the Pullman and sat down to think it all over. It had but one other occupant, a huge man with heavy shoulders who lowered the paper he had been reading and looked at Jimmy through a pair of clear, gray, appraising eyes that conveyed such a sense of directness as to slightly disconcert one with a guilty conscience.

"Great Scott!" thought Jimmy. "Hope he's not a sheriff or a United States marshal looking for me," and then indulged in an inward smile at the absurdity of his being of sufficient importance to have a federal officer on his trail. He seated himself and took a furtive glance at the man's face. It was a distinctly attractive face, due to its marked indications of character. It expressed not only firmness and intelligence but a sense of humor. Jimmy decided that this individual should appreciate a joke and wondered who he was.

"Funny old chap," he thought. "Might be a banker, but I think he's a drummer. Wonder who he's out for? Somehow he's mighty familiar; but surely I'd never forget an old Trojan like that. Maybe I've met him sometime, and he's got all that gray around his temples since then. Gray hairs do make a difference."

He was still puzzling over this lost identity when the man laid the newspaper to one side, lighted a fresh cigar and, turning toward Jimmy, said, "Funny about that affair over in Yimville, isn't it? Have you read about it?"

Jimmy had to look away lest the twinkle in his eyes betray him, and then decided his best policy would be to take it with a laugh. A laugh he decided was the most disarming of human manifestations. He emitted one.

"Yes, I read about it in the papers yesterday and to-day. That fellow at Yimville does seem to have kicked up an amusing controversy. One set of papers says he was mobbed, and the other that he made a hit. But—pshaw!—of course it has no effect whatever on Judge Granger's chances for the nomination! Tempest in a child's teapot that will last about as long."

"Perhaps! I'm not to sure about that. Moreover, I'm not so certain that Granger, unmolested, could have got the nomination. He would have been up against a good stiff fight. I understand that he's a trifle too self-satisfied to be a very popular candidate. Nothing hurts a man with a swelled head like ridicule. Ridicule will trim men that can't be touched with any other weapon under the sun. And—" he chuckled as if amused—"the whole state has something to laugh over now, whether he made that speech, or whether he didn't!"

The man looked out of the window for a moment and then, as if no longer interested in the Yimville episode, inquired, "Didn't I see you getting some sample cases aboard the train? What's your line?"

"Chocolates. Columbus Chocolate Co. of New York. Are you on the road?"

"Well, not exactly. I'm in water power plants at present."

"Something I don't know much about," said Jimmy. "But I wish I did. Mighty interesting. In fact I never took the trouble to look one over until a little while ago."

"Where was that?" inquired the man.

"Up at a place called Princetown. Good water power there. Big plant, I suppose you would call it."

"Yes, I suppose they have good power up there. I have heard so," said the man, inspecting the ash of his cigar as if interested in how long it would last without breaking. "Let's see—automobile factory there, isn't there?"

"Yes. Sayers Automobile Company. Fine cars, too, but unknown except out here. At least I should say so. That's the trouble with half the enterprises in the country. They can make first class articles but they can't sell them. Sometimes I think we Americans aren't such good hustlers after all. We've got the reputation in Europe, I am told, of blowing about our stuff; but I'm not certain that we do. If I were a manufacturer, I'd not make anything that wasn't the best I could make. I'd put everything I knew and everything I could learn into whatever I made. I'd not have a man work for me fifteen minutes if he didn't believe that it was the best thing of its kind on earth. And then I'd know that when that man went out and talked about my line of goods, whether he was a salesman or not, he'd swear that it was the best on earth."

The man smiled, "In other words, even your workmen blowing, eh?"

"I don't think it's blowing to say what you honestly believe about your line. When a man is absolutely convinced that he is offering the very best thing on the market and gets hot under the collar if anybody questions it, he becomes a good salesman. He never can be that unless he is honestly positive that he is talking truth. Telling the truth isn't boasting. It's the way to sell goods. Blowing means ignorance or lying. A man can not lie about anything he has to sell—if it's nothing bigger than hairpins—and get away with it very long. I never lie about my line—never! I really believe that some of our stuff is the best of its kind made. I say so. I honestly admit it when some other house brings out a certain line that beats ours, and then I hustle back home and put on my spurs, and get out my hammer, and try to get my firm to see it, and to meet the new stuff and if possible to go it one better."

Jimmy had forgotten all about Yimville, now that he was expatiating on a pet hobby of his. Evidently, too, Yimville had passed from the mind of his companion, who seemed pondering over salesmanship.

"But—but how would it be applicable to power plants?" he demanded.

"I don't know," admitted Jim, "but the principle is the same for chocolates, or power plants or—automobiles. That's what started me off—those Sayers automobiles. I never heard about that car until I saw one in the street. I don't know anything about them. But the one I saw looked so pretty that I talked with the man who owned it, and he was in love with the thing. So, because I never heard of it, and no one else seemed to have done so, it proves that there's something wrong with the Sayers selling organization. They haven't handled their capital right, because every dollar invested in advertising is a dollar in the value of the plant—in that intangible asset called 'goodwill,' without which neither a house nor a man can succeed."

"Young man," said his companion, "you are in the wrong line. You ought to be selling advertising space. I told you I was in power plants but—I'm in some other things as well. Did you ever solicit advertising contracts for any first class advertising firm?"

"I never did," admitted Jimmy, "But I have given some advice about advertising that has paid the purchasers. And I've pondered over sales organization for years. I tell you—it's a science! If ever I get a chance to test these theories of mine—I'll——" He paused as if ashamed of his serious enthusiasm, and as usual, derided them—"I'll probably fail!"

"Why deride yourself?" queried the man, regarding Jim with grave and interested eyes. "If sales organization is a hobby of yours, why not ride it? Evidently you've thought about it somewhat. What is wrong with the average sales organization? Where does it fail? What improvements can you suggest in prevalent methods? Have you thought of anything new and original to improve them? If so, I'd like to hear about it, because I'm one of those who are never too old to learn."

Jimmy accepted and launched into his argument with all the vim of an enthusiast discussing a subject to which he had given thought.

"Have you got one of your personal cards with you? Hope you don't think I'm impertinent," said the man, after Jimmy had run down.

Jimmy laughed and gave him the card and while he wondered what was coming next, his companion carefully slipped it into his pocketbook.

"If ever you decide to get out of chocolates," he said, thoughtfully, "you might call on me—or—let's see! Here!" He took another card from his pocket just as the train came to a stop and the porter came hurrying in and shouted, "Sorry, sah! Done forgot to call you sooner. Corinth!"

Both Jim and his fellow traveler jumped to their feet and hastened out. Jimmy saw that the card was that of "Mr. Charles W. Martin, Suites 105-7-9-11 Z, Flat Iron Bldg., New York. Specialist in everything pertaining to power plants."

Out on the platform Martin asked, "Where do you stop here in Corinth, Mr. Gollop?"

"At the City Hotel," said Jimmy. "Good sample rooms there. Good grub. Good beds."

"I think I'll go there, too," said Martin, and together they entered the hotel bus and were driven away.

As usual Jimmy was welcomed by his first name, and informed that there was some mail there for him. When he looked around from its perusal Martin had disappeared and he did not meet him again until he was seated in a corner of the restaurant alone, when a voice behind him said, "Hope you don't mind if I join you, Mr. Gollop," and looked up to see his traveling companion.

"Not at all, Mr. Martin," he replied. "Always glad to have good company. I'm a sociable sort of cuss myself. I detest traveling alone, eating alone, or loafing alone. I suppose I'm gregarious."

A troubled, thoughtful shadow chased itself over the elder man's face, as he said, with a half-sigh, "I understand. It's not good for a man to be alone. And the older he becomes, the more he feels lonesomeness, and the more he wants—home!"

The word was the magic one for Jimmy. Somehow that word always moved him and brought out his great undercurrent.

"Why, do you know," he said, leaning across the table with shining eyes, "if I didn't have a home to go to, always, after I've made my round, I'd be like a horse that had been robbed of his stall? I live for it! I work for it! I look forward to it all the time! But you see, I'm different than most men. Luckier, I think, because my mother's there! And if I didn't have a thing in the world but her, I'd be rich. And if I had everything else but her, I'd be poor! I'm mighty proud of my home and my mother. I shall be leaving here for home to-morrow afternoon," continued Jimmy. "After I've hustled around and seen about a dozen customers. Being a drummer and having a craze for home, are two pretty tough propositions to combine. But—what would home be without chocolates? Why, do you know, I don't think I'd have been able to have a home at all without 'em! By chocolates Maw and I live or die. Funny, isn't it, that if there was an earthquake that wiped a spot off the maps and hurt me when I read about it, I'd keep going on just about the same; but if everybody stopped eating chocolates, I'd be wiped off the map, and I reckon the world would be going on just the same? Sometimes I think every man's world is the smallest thing there is because it's bounded only by his own happiness or tragedy. He's just one of billions, but if his pet dog dies, he's astonished because the universe isn't covered with gloom and probably he's the only one that's sorry about the dog, or that even knows the dog has croaked. Maybe somebody else hears about it and is glad—the chap that the dog bit the week before he went to dog-heaven. But—anyhow—I'm bound for home to-morrow. Back to Baltimore, as the song goes."

"Baltimore?" said Martin. "That's a coincidence! I go to Baltimore myself to-morrow. Struthers people. Know them? Make tools of precision."

"Everybody in Baltimore knows of them," declared Jim with full civic pride.

"I shall take the two-thirty train," said Martin. "Maybe we shall travel together."

"That's the one I take," said Jim. "Match you to see who engages berths for both of us."

"I'll gladly engage one for you without matching," declared Martin, a proffer which Jim immediately accepted.

They lounged together that evening, and the more Jimmy knew of Martin, the better he liked him. There was something homely and sane about the man that appealed to him. For a time he kept subconsciously questioning why he maintained a peculiar feeling that this was not the first time they had met; yet this sense of unrest was dissipated by the respect he had formed for him, quite unaccountably. He was, indeed, surprised with himself for his liking when he realized how satisfactory it was to have Martin sharing his journey on the following day. In his perpetual journeyings he had met many men who were congenial, men of the goodfellow type, but here was a man who had but little of the customary "goodfellow" attributes and habits, and who yet won his regard. There was the disparity of ages, the contrast of taciturnity with free expression, and a large lack of mutual experience; but somehow all these barriers were not supervened to the detriment of their fellowship. Jim felt as if he were with an acquaintance—most friendly too—of years standing, long before they arrived at Baltimore.

"Perhaps you can recommend me to a good hotel," said Martin, as they neared their destination. "I've never stopped in Baltimore. In fact, I'm a total stranger there."

"Why stop at a hotel at all?" suggested Jimmy, generously. "Why not come out and put up with me? My mother's the finest there is! We're pretty plain people, but it ought to beat being in a hotel. I'll have three days home this time, and I'll show you down to Struthers' place, and—by jingoes!—you shall be introduced to big Bill, my pet tree, in his winter clothes, and if I can't make you believe in Maryland hospitality, it won't be my fault."

Martin accepted as directly as he appeared to decide everything. And the beauty of it was that Mrs. Gollop, who shared her son's hospitable nature, accepted and made welcome the guest that Jimmy brought home as if she were thoroughly accustomed to her son's unconventional methods.

"Does he always bring strangers home like this?" asked Martin, with a faint smile, on the second day of his visit after Jim's mother had been eloquently expatiating on Jim's idiosyncrasies and virtues during the latter's temporary absence.

"You never can tell what Jimmy will do," she replied with a laugh, and then thoughtfully stared through her window into the street. "But I am always certain that he will do the honest, decent, and generous action. He laughs his way through the world, but in the laugh is never malice nor cruelty. His sole failing is that he cannot resist a joke. He has always been so. His sense of the ridiculous is absurdly out of proportion to his serious side. I used to feel hopeless for his future because he laughed so much; but now I know the difference. One may still laugh and be loyal in all things. He has no false ideas or unattainable ambitions. He has no false pride. He believes in doing his best in all things. He is sorry for those who are unfortunate, and unenvious of those who have succeeded. He is sincere, and he is unassuming, a good friend, and a tolerant enemy. His tastes are simple, his pleasures homely."

She stopped, flushed and, added, "But I boast too much! Yet I can't help it because—well—because there has never been such a son as mine, and I'm not ashamed to feel proud of him!"

But Mr. Martin was now looking out of the window, and, Mr. Martin did not smile.



CHAPTER X

At the end of three days, Mr. Martin, professing much gratitude and pleasure for the hospitality shown him, departed for the South. At the end of four days, Mr. Gollop, making the excuse of urgent business, entrained for New York. Not that Mr. Gollop, having regard for the expressio falsi as compared with the suppressio veri, was strictly a prevaricator or that he told the exact truth, because he had slipped four whole days up his sleeve for his own entertainment; four whole days in which he had not the slightest intention of visiting his firm; four whole days that he intended to devote to art research, and exploration—exploration of a wilderness known as MacDougall Alley. So accurately did he time his movements that he invaded MacDougall Alley at just eleven a.m., which he considered a proper hour to find an aspiring artist at work while the light was most perfect and amenable. He was not disappointed, which he regarded as proof of acumen; but he was surprised by his surroundings. No bare-walled studio, this, but a rather luxurious place. With a real rug on the floor, and real chairs to sit upon, and a cosy seat, and electric lights instead of bare boards, benches, charcoal brazier and tallow dips stuck in the necks of bottles blown for better contents.

"See here! What troubles you, Bill Jones? Have I done anything you didn't like?" demanded Mary Allen, as she extricated her thumb from the hole of a palette on which oil paints proved that she had forsaken for the moment her love of water colors.

"Why—why—I don't understand!" exclaimed Jimmy, helplessly.

"Don't understand? I thought you promised to write?"

"I did," admitted Jimmy; "but, you see, I was so busy and there were so many people to talk to in my most seductive manner, and there were so many things to be done, including people, that I clean overlooked it! I did! I confess. But—I'm going to be here now at least a week," he added hopefully, and not without insinuation.

"Hope you enjoy your visit," she said, and added rather maliciously, "I am entirely engrossed in my work—this week."

He stared at her with a face as frankly dejected as that of a hurt boy; then, his ever-present bouyancy reasserting itself, queried, "That's good. By the way, do you ever use models?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Well, I've got nothing to do this week," he replied enthusiastically. "I'll sit for you as a study in Disappointment, Flat-busted, or Return from the Races. The title doesn't matter, because I'll be such an excellent study for any sort of man whose hopes have all been knocked flatter than a pancake."

"I know you can be gloomy enough when you wish to be," she said, relenting a trifle; "but you're the first man I ever had promise to write me a letter that I admitted I should welcome, and then had the impudence to forget me. The one thing a woman can't forget is to be forgotten."

Jimmy felt decidedly perturbed by this statement. He wondered what she would say if he boldly admitted that he had in reality forgotten her very name and where she came from, and then followed it with a confession that since the first day he had met her in New York some months ago, he had made amends by thinking of her continuously throughout his spare time. But he did not dare. He feared banishment, and that, he concluded, desperately, would be worse than death. Something of his mental distress must have been observable, for the girl suddenly relented, smiled a trifle and then said, "Well, perhaps I can indulge myself—not you, understand?—by going somewhere."

She regained her palette, and turned toward her easel with a businesslike air, quite as if she were a painter for a livelihood, and said, "Now suppose you run along and let me work. You can come back here for me at—say—one o'clock, and take me to luncheon; that is—if you're not too busy!"

And Jimmy, transported with delight, made a vast pretense of business and hastened away, lest she change her mind. He had the wisdom to let well enough alone, and knew that time is the best medicine for annoyance. But he was there in MacDougall Alley,—just the same—with marvelous punctuality.

And there can be no question that he was a master host when it came to luncheons, dinners, suppers, or midnight lunch counters. With him it was an art, cultivated to the highest point of efficiency. Moreover, timorous and fearful lest he blunderingly lose his advantages, he did not press his suit too far and, as a result, Mary Allen forgot his seeming neglect. There was but one embarrassing moment when, after a moment's silence she said, "Do tell me, is there anything at all new down home? Dad is so uncommunicative that he never has much to say about the town itself, and everyone else is too busy to write me."

"Nothing new that I noticed when I was there last," said Jimmy. "Of course, being on the road all the time I'm—well—I'm so busy that—ummmh! Isn't that our waiter? Some of those pears over there on that other table look good enough to eat and—wish we could get some strawberries! Do you like hot-house grapes?"

He might have gone through an entire horticultural catalogue, had not his roving eyes at that moment suddenly been arrested by something that caused them to open widely and fix themselves. The something was a keen-looking man seated at another table who was glaring at time with a steady and highly interrogative look. For once Mr. James Gollop's cheery self-confidence deserted him and he was highly distressed; for the keen-faced man happened to be his employer and his employer up to that moment believed one James Gollop was out on the road some hundred or so miles from New York looking after the interests of the Columbus Chocolate Company. Jimmy recovered sufficiently to bow and the bow was somewhat frigidly acknowledged. Jimmy's wits worked fast—very fast.

"Pardon me, won't you please," he addressed Mary Allen; "but there is a man sitting over there to whom I wish to speak for just an instant. Got to make an appointment with him, and this is opportune."

"Certainly," replied the lady, and Jimmy got up, crossed to his employer, and without giving the latter a chance to say anything, thrust out his hand and said, "Howdydo, Mr. Falkner. Howdydo! Got in off the run early this trip and was coming down to see you as soon as I had lunch."

"Oh, you were, were you?" dryly remarked his "boss," and the unhappy Jimmy distinguished a tone of sarcasm. "Very kind of you, I'm sure. We've been wanting to hear from you for several days. I'll expect you at just three o'clock this afternoon."

Stunned by this unusual lack of cordiality, Jim said, "Very well, sir, I'll be there," and with as much dignity as he could command, turned and walked back to his table, but wondered heavily, what on earth he had done; what was wrong; whether some prominent customer had gone bankrupt or if Falkner merely had a grouch.

"I thought you went to see a friend, but you look as if you had been talking with an undertaker," commented his guest.

"And that's just the way I feel about it," admitted Jimmy. "Because I've got to meet him at three o'clock this afternoon, and I had anticipated the pleasure of going somewhere with you."

"The mean old thing!" she exclaimed, impulsively, and Jimmy's heart bumped at the knowledge that she, too, was disappointed.

"But," he suggested, hopefully, "if I called for you at the studio at about six o'clock couldn't we dine together?"

And when she accepted his invitation with unconcealed enthusiasm, his spirits again soared and he forgot even the baleful presence of Falkner for a time, and when he did remember him, discovered that his "kill joy" had gone.

Promptly at three o'clock he breezed into his firm's offices with all habitual cheeriness, exchanged a swift run of badinage with those he met, and was ushered into the manager's office. Falkner did not meet him with the customary smile of welcome.

"Well," he said, "you seem to have raised a devil of a row out West, and if you can offer any explanation at all for such conduct I'm prepared to listen to it before we go any further. If you think that's the kind of advertising a reputable firm wants you're about as poor a guesser as ever traveled on a mileage book."

"Why—why—what's up?" blurted Jimmy.

"What's up? You've got a nerve to ask that!" roared the manager, banging his fist on the top of his desk. "Here, look at these!"

He handed Jim a small sheaf of sheets consisting of letters and telegrams. The first was from a jobbing firm:

"Cancel order given your man Gollop. Sorry, but entire board of directors are Republican and resent Yimville affair."

A second was from another firm which had been one of Jim's best customers and read:

"Advise Gollop not to make this territory again until Yimville affair blows over. Granger's supporters buzzing like live hornets."

A more portentous looking document bearing the heading of the "State Republican Committee Headquarters" bore the concise statement that unless an immediate, full, and public apology was forthcoming from one James Gollop for impersonating the Hon. J. Woodworth-Granger at an important political meeting in the city of Yimville were not immediately forthcoming, legal action would be taken for damages, on the ground of misrepresentation, false pretense and willful intent to damage the reputation and political career of one of the most distinguished men in the state. Another letter was a round robin, signed by several firms, demanding the immediate discharge of "that contemptible practical joker, James Gollop," and still another was from no less person that the Judge of the Fourth District Court, in which what was said of the same James Gollop was enough to wither that unfortunate individual. Someone had sent a stack of newspaper clippings three inches in thickness, from which Jimmy gathered that it had taken but a day or two to pick up his trail and expose him beyond all possible dispute.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, aghast, and wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. "I didn't have any idea of kicking up such a fuss as that. I just blundered into a chance to have some fun with that pompous old rooster that hated me because we looked so much alike and——" In the midst of all his woes he could not suppress a laugh of amusement.

"So you still think it's a joke, do you?" snorted the irate manager, exasperated by this further evidence of irresponsibility. "Well, you'll not think so any longer. I'll attend to that. You turn your samples in and go to the cashier with your expense account. You're fired! Maybe you can understand that! Fired! F-I-R-E-D!"

"You needn't have troubled to spell it out," remonstrated Jimmy. "I get you. But—hang it all, man!—you might at least put me into some new territory. I didn't mean anything by it. I'll admit I was a chump; but I can sell stuff, and you know it."

He stopped and stared at the floor with a face so frankly troubled and perplexed that the manager for the moment forgot his wrath. The boy in Jimmy Gollop was never more manifest than at that moment. There was something very appealing about him that Falkner could not fail to discern.

"Jimmy," he said, gravely, "I'm sorry, but it has to be done. What on earth made you such a fool? You must have been crazy!"

"I sort of reckon I must have been," admitted Jimmy, dolefully. "But—honestly!—I didn't mean to do any real damage to that old stiff Granger, and certainly not to the firm. The firm? Why Mr. Falkner, I've stuck up for it for nearly ten years because it has treated me white, and because it's an honest firm that makes honest goods. But—well—all I can do is to square matters up as best I can. You people have been very good to me. Very good and very kind. I've drawn your money and,—prospered, and so I'll write the public apology or confession, or whatever you call it, that those chaps out there demand, and take all the blame. And I'll write to every customer that has communicated with you and tell 'em that, although I'm out and gone, the orders were solicited in good faith and that it's not fair to make you suffer for that fool joke of mine. I'm done with jokes of all sorts from now on. I'll do anything except this—I'll not write one word of apology to that man Granger!"

Falkner looked out of the window as if troubled, and then said, with a sigh of regret, "Well, Jim, I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. You're the best man we ever had out, and—by Jove!—I'll put that into writing so you can have something to show, and you can use me personally as a reference when you strike someone else for territory. But, mind you, I shall have to tell them confidentially the reasons why we had to let you go."

"Of course! That's only fair," said Jimmy, his sober common sense impelling him to this admission.

"And—when this tempest blows by, you can have any other territory that comes open, Jim," volunteered Falkner; "that is—provided that you cut the jokes out. Surely you've had fun enough by now to last you a lifetime!"

"I have! I have!" assented Jimmy lugubriously. "I've played the biggest joke of all on myself. By heck! I've joked myself out of my own job, and that's the limit. Joe Miller never did that and Mark Twain, Josh Billings, Bill Nye and George Ade, none of 'em ever reached that height of humor. The only difference between us is that they got cash for their jokes, whereas all the pay I get is the boot and the chance to go yelping down the street with a washboiler tied to my tail. Well, if a fellow puts grease on the front door steps he shouldn't squeal if he forgets and falls down himself."

It was not until he stood outside the main entrance to the building that he had a full sense of homelessness. It was not until then that he knew what it meant to be without anchorage. It seemed to him that all of those who hurried past in the winter's twilight had something to do and that he alone was adrift. He alone had dipped into the depths of folly and he alone had proved irresponsible. And his employment just then meant much to him. Subconsciously, he had builded with such confidence. He was now aware that he had based all upon a permanency of income that he had conceived to be fixed. His home, his mother's contentment, his dreams of winning life companionship with the only girl he had ever loved, seemed to have depended upon the employment he had lost. And now all was gone! Swept away. He was a most forlorn and melancholy optimist as he stood there in the early twilight of winter, confusedly considering his position.

"Well," he thought at last, "they can't keep a good man down," and then after a moment's further reflection added, "But they can give him an awful wallop!"

The staring eye of an illuminated clock reminded him that MacDougall Alley was some distance away and he suffered a peculiar mixture of sadness and gladness as he began his journey. It seemed to him that he was a different person from the James Gollop who had happily invaded MacDougall's artistic precincts that morning from the James Gollop who was now disconsolately making his way thither. That Gollop of the morning had been happy and bright because he had a job; but this Gollop of the evening, jobless, and with a black mark against him that was too notorious to escape the amused attention of all possible employers in his line, was but a sad dog. It required conscious mental effort on his part to assume a cheerful demeanor when he climbed the studio stairs. He wished that he dared tell the "Candy Girl" all about it, but decided that it would be ungenerous to bother anyone else with his woes, and any indecision in this regard was ended before the evening was over because she was so frankly and unaffectedly happy that he hadn't the heart to say anything that might possibly mar it. Yet, even whilst they sat in a theater listening to a most cheerful musical comedy the sober and responsible side of his mind was weighing necessities. The first of these, he knew, must be economies; for he anticipated that it might be a considerable time before he could again be earning an income, and there was always the little home down in Baltimore and its occupant to be considered first, and his own pleasures must be relegated to a secondary place. He was therefore rather heart-broken, but firm in his final explanation that night as he parted from her in front of the Martha Putnam Hotel.

"That business session I had this afternoon," he said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his trouble, "has unfortunately upset all my plans. I can't have that little four days vacation I had been planning."

"What? How horrid!" exclaimed the girl. "I—I thought we were to——"

Her disappointment and distress were so manifest that Mr. James Gollop had a first-class fight with himself to keep from blurting out the truth there in the hotel rotunda and telling her that on the next morning he was starting on what promised to be a long hunt for employment. But he escaped such confession by saying that he had great hopes of returning to New York within a few days. In fact he actually predicted that it would be so. And after all, the only lie he told was embodied in that word "Return."



CHAPTER XI

Mr. James Gollop discovered in the course of the following three days that although most business men enjoy a joke, their sense of humor is so deficient that they don't care to combine jest and business. His ill-fame had preceded him, and in addition thereto, it was the off-season, and vacancies few.

"We'd like to have you, Jim," said one sales manager, "but the trouble is that we should want you to take up the territory where you are well known, and that, of course, is impossible."

Others told him to call later in the season. Others who would have given him samples were firms of such small caliber that he could not see any future, and several were willing to take him on commission sales only. The only thing that helped him was that prodigious store of optimism which impelled him after each rebuff to hope for a change just around the corner.

It was when he felt at rather low ebb that he passed, rather disconsolately, the Flat Iron Building and remembered Martin. Having no other place to go, he decided to call upon that shrewd gentleman and gather from such a source of hard common sense fresh courage. He turned in through the big swinging door that let a gust of winter into each compartment as it whirled, trundled it around and belched it into the great hallway, and somewhat absent-mindedly collided with a man who was coming out.

"Hello! She bumps!" said Jimmy good-naturedly and then—"Why—why it's you, is it, Mr. Martin? I was just coming up to your offices to see if by chance you happened to be in."

There was no mistaking the heartiness of the hand grasp that caught his.

"Well, we can go up now," said Martin, cheerfully. "In fact, I've been thinking about you quite a lot. Been rather eager to see you again. But—hold on!—the office is anything but a confidential resort. Suppose you come with me to the Engineers' Club where we can have a nice quiet talk."

Jimmy, feeling as if he had at least one friend left in the world, readily accepted, and thought it rather lucky that they were the only men in the club lounge room; felt that the chairs were very comfortable, and the atmosphere summery.

"How are things with you?" asked Martin shrewdly eyeing him through the first blue smoke screen of a cigar.

"Oh, so-so," replied Jimmy, evasively.

"Everything all right?"

"In a way. In a way."

"Chocolate business flourishing?"

"It was—up to a week ago."

"But now? How about now, Gollop?"

For a moment Jim scarcely knew what to answer, and looking up from an overly prolonged inspection of his cigar caught the humorous, quizzical twinkle in the friendly, keen eyes of his host.

"By jingoes!" he exclaimed, "you know something! You've heard the news. You know I've been fired."

"Yes, I do know it," answered Martin, with a grin. "I was—rather curious to learn how you took it. Suppose you tell me all about it. I'm your friend, you know. We've shared salt. I've been entertained in your mother's home. Now cut loose."

Jimmy laughed, sobered, shook his head and said, "You see, that's where the worst of the trouble is unknown. I can't—well, I can't worry Maw. She doesn't know it yet. I've been trying to get another job before I broke the news to her and—well, I haven't succeeded! Those worth while are afraid of me, or else have no opening. For the moment I'm the under dog; but—I'm not whipped!"

And then he told the whole story to Martin, who listened, asked an occasional question, smiled as if at some secret thought, and finally remarked, "Your story agrees with what I've heard. But that man Granger must have been a vindictive brute to carry it so far. By the way, did you say your firm gave you the letter he wrote? Let's see it."

Jimmy took it from his pocketbook and gave it to the wise old man, who stuck glasses on his nose awry, and at an angle well down toward the point, and scanned the missive.

"Humph! Sounds like that sort of man," he commented, as he handed it back. "What do you think of it?"

Jim considered the question for a time.

"At first I was sore because he couldn't take a joke. Then I remembered what kind of a man he appeared to be when I met him, and decided that it was just his way. Not a fault, you know, but something he couldn't help. Men are not all alike. Personally I can't keep a grudge. Life's too short for that. I never try to play, even, in a malicious way. If a man really hurts me, I 'most always think of his side of it, and if I decide I'm in the wrong, go to him and say so. If I think I'm in the right,—just forget him. If he gets the best of me in business, I congratulate him. That's part of the game. This chap Granger really never did me much harm and I think maybe that I, without really intending it, did him quite a lot. So I did the best I could to square it."

"How?" asked Martin with another one of those quizzical glances of his.

"I wrote to all the newspapers I could get knowledge of out there, and said that I was the guilty man; that I had played a fool joke under the impulse of the moment and that the Judge was in no wise responsible for anything at all that I said any more than he was for my actions."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, I suppose that was the most of it."

Mr. Martin laughed and shook his head, and then said, in a kindly voice, "No, that wasn't all you wrote. I read some of your communications as they were printed. You not only apologized for your practical joke, but you ended by the declaration that you regarded Judge Granger as a man worthy of confidence, and asserted that if you were a resident of his constituency you would vote for him. I call that pretty forgiving."

"But—you see I had done him an unmerited injury," said Jimmy, soberly. "And so I did all I could to undo it. It was merely playing a white man's game."

"In spite of the fact that he had cost you your livelihood and done all he could to hurt you?"

"Oh, that had nothing to do with it! I did him an injury, and—I did the best I could to undo it."

Martin sat and looked at him admiringly, for a time, and then asked, "But what are you going to do now that all your trade is aware of your predicament, and are afraid to employ you?"

"I'll be hanged if I know!" Jimmy admitted, with an air of gravity. "But—I'll keep on trying. You can bet on that! I'll find some way out of it, even if I have to begin again in some other line. They all of them have to admit that I'm honest—that's an asset that nobody can dispute. We can't all be brilliant and honest at the same time. Some men are brilliant but fail to gain confidence. Other men are honest but can't be brilliant. I'm honest but haven't proved brilliant, or unbrilliant, so I've got the best of the situation—up to date. Someone, therefore, will give me a chance. So I'm not discouraged. Maybe it's because I've got imagination. When things go dead wrong with me, I just imagine that they're not so bad, after all. Cowards and pessimists are the only ones to whom imagination is a curse. Why—even a crippled dog has dreams of hunting in his sleep, and he wakes up with hope!"

Jimmy's host seemed to ponder over this crude philosophy for a time as if bemused by its possibilities, and then suddenly straightened himself in his chair and leaned forward.

"Do you remember what you said to me in the train one day as to a man's having faith in whatever he sold? And you talked about an automobile called the Sayers car? You do, eh? Well, here's something that may interest you. The Sayers Automobile Company is going to reorganize its sales organization. It wants a man with imagination who will take hold of that department. It seeks a man with ideas—none of the old, worn out, hackneyed stuff, but—a man with original ideas that will prove good. The Martin Company handles its advertising. Do you think—really and honestly think—that you could reorganize its sales department and bring to it additional success if I recommend you to the Sayers people?"

"You bet your life I could!" asserted Jimmy. "I've thought about that car a lot. And in the last few days when nobody seems to want me, I have wondered if it wouldn't be a good move for me to get into the line of motor cars."

Martin seemed to ponder over the situation for a moment and then said, with a sly grin, "Of course the first step for you to take would be to go out to the Sayers works, meet Sayers and his superintendent, make a study of the sales methods they have been employing, and then put before them a full outline of what you propose. If they like it, they will probably give you a chance to demonstrate what you can do. And if you do get the place, and make good, I believe old Sayers is just the sort of man who would appreciate your work and make it mighty well worth your while to stay with him permanently. But I tell you this much, that he believes in efficiency and will have no one around him who can't deliver the goods. Now do you want to tackle it?"

"I do! I do!" replied Jimmy with fervency, stopped, and then emitted a groan and said, "But good Lord! The Sayers plant is out near Princetown, and Princetown is the home of Judge Granger, and—they'd lynch me if I showed up there—that is, unless I could get the infuriated populace to make another mistake of identity and hang the Judge in the belief that he was me!"

"Um-mh! Granger lives in Princetown, eh? That's rather awkward, isn't it? What do you propose?"

Jimmy thought a moment and slapped his leg with an air of cheerfulness.

"I've got it. I'll do as I did before—hide all of my face I can. I'll wear big blue glasses, and grow a mustache and get my hair dyed black. And if I can arrange it I'll go through Princetown like greased lightning, and stop at the works while there."

Martin chuckled with amusement and then said, "I think Sayers would send a car to meet you at the train if we wrote him when you were coming, and I have no doubt that you could find some place to stop out near the works. Did you notice if there were any houses near the plant?"

"Yes, lots of them. Neat little places, most of them. Sort of a model city, I should say."

"You are at least observant," commented Martin, and then promptly arose, went to a writing desk and wrote for a time, whilst Jimmy's spirits soared up and up until he was glad that he had been foisted out of the chocolate trade.

"Sayers knows I belong to this club," said Martin, returning to his seat; "so will think nothing of my letter being written on club, rather than business stationery. Besides I shall confirm these letters along with other matters, when I return to the office. Now here is a letter to old Tom Sayers, and another to Mr. Holmes, his general superintendent. Letters of introduction—both—as you can see. I think they will suffice to put you in right, and then it's up to you to formulate a general plan for a selling organization that will suit Sayers. If you can't show him something to catch his approval, you'll have wasted your time. If you can, it's almost certain that you'll be given a chance to show what you can do. But—mind you!—he's been probing around on this matter for some time, and has probably had all sorts of schemes suggested and proposed, and you've got to show something that is better than anyone else has put forward. In that way it's sort of competitive. And—see here!—if I were you I'd not wait to grow a mustache and get my hair dyed and all that rot; but waste no time at all in getting out there lest someone beats you to the place."

"Good!" said Jimmy, promptly. "You just wire them that I'm coming. I remember the timetables. You tell them to send a car to meet me at a train that arrives in Princetown at ten o'clock to-morrow morning! I'm going to start west on the train that leaves the Pennsylvania station in just thirty-five minutes from now."

"Oh, that means an all-night ride and a breakneck connection, doesn't it? There's no such rush as all that," expostulated Martin.

"There's no such thing as too quick action when looking for a job," declared Jimmy with all his accustomed energy. "Good-by, and thank you—ever so much. I'm off to try to make good! Good-by!"

Martin looked at him approvingly as if this was the sort of hustling he liked, and accompanied him out to the street. Jimmy bolted into the traffic, dodged under horses' noses, disregarded the shouts of drivers and traffic policemen, mounted a slowly moving taxi, shouted instructions to the driver from the running board, and the last that Martin saw of him was a hand waved through an open window.

"Well," soliloquized Martin after this breathless chase, "if he moves that fast when at work it would take a cyclone to catch him. It strikes me that he's going to land that job, all right!"



CHAPTER XII

The train that ran up the branch line to Princetown was comfortably filled when the man wearing blue glasses and with his coat collar pulled up around his ears as if they were cold boarded it and found a vacant seat in the smoker, into which he settled with a sigh of relief. He had passed through a distressing hour when the main line train was delayed, fearing every moment that he would miss his connection to Princetown and thus make an unpropitious start in the estimation of Sayers. And a very different traveler was this from the jovial Mr. Gollop who customarily sought information on all points pertaining to the country through which he passed, for now he was like the Irish section boss who sternly warned his garrulous men with, "All we want is silence; and damned little of that!" He was about to arise and discard his overcoat, when suddenly he subsided with a gasp. Two men had entered the coach and taken the unoccupied seat immediately in front of him and one of them was Judge J. Woodworth-Granger.

Jimmy looked for another place, but none was vacant. The train began to move and the fact that other men came through in quest of a seat, found none and stood up, convinced Jim of the futility of searching other coaches. The car speedily filled with smoke and got hotter. No one seemed to care for ventilation. Jim's overcoat gave him the pleasant feeling of sitting in a sweat bath but he dared not doff it. The Judge's voice, loud and slow, floated back to his ears, and his previous discomfort was as nothing when he heard the Judge say, as if in response to some comment of his traveling companion, "No, of course not! Gollop! I'm so sick of hearing that man's name that I could wish it banned. His apologies only made matters worse, because there are idiots in this state who actually took that flagrant outrage as a joke! And you have observed what capital the Democratic press are making of it? They declare now that I'm vindictive because I got the scoundrel discharged! As if a citizen had not the right to protect himself from the villainous impositions of a coarse, low-browed ignoramus who turns everything into a practical jest. And, what is more, if ever that man enters the state jurisdiction I'll bring the law to bear and make an example of him that will forever deter other miscreants from such enterprises. That man Gollop has done me an incredible amount of damage!"

Jimmy wriggled and twisted in his seat.

"By jingoes!" he said to himself. "I'm like that old fellow at the town meeting. I've just got to get out of this; because if that geezer ever spots me, the only steady job I'll ever get in this state will be breaking stone!" And so, to the relief of his seat companion, he seized his bag, as if about to approach his destination, slid hurriedly out into the aisle with an averted glance, and fled from the coach and back through the train. Standing in an aisle for an hour was preferable to the risks of having the angry Judge turn in his seat and recognize him. A place on the blind baggage platform, enshrouded in cinders and fanned by the frosty winds would have been comfortable compared with that seat. He went, in a panic, through the entire train and did not stop until he reached the rear platform and closed the door behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief and for the first time that day felt cool. A brakeman jerked the door open behind him and said, "Hey! You can't stand out there! Against the rules! Can't you read that metal sign on the door that says it's forbidden?"

Jimmy turned and faced his tormentor.

"Please—please let me stand here! I'm sick, man. I'm sick! Forget the rules. Here, take this and buy a drink of lemonade when you get to Princetown if you can't get a prescription for something better from the doctor!" And he extricated a five dollar bill from his diminishing bankroll and tendered it.

"For that," said the brakeman with a grin, "I'd let you ride on the tin roof!" and banged the door shut and stood guard with his back against it.

At intervals the local train stopped and emitted passengers, but Mr. James Gollop clung to his platform as if having no frantic longing for a seat. And at Princetown he patiently waited until the crowd thinned, and with one eye glared through blue glasses forward to make certain of the Judge's departure. He descended from his perch and looked anxiously around to meet the inquiring stare of a man who was evidently in waiting, and toward him rushed as to a refuge.

"Are you looking for anyone?" Jim asked, and added, "because if you're from the Sayers works——"

"Mister, I'm just doin' that same thing," the man replied. "I'd 'most given you up. Thought you didn't ketch the train. Come on out this way. I got her hitched to the end of the platform."

Jimmy carried his bag and followed his guide, who stowed him into the depths of a car, threw the switch of an electric starter, deftly let in the clutch, and the smart little machine picked up and slid away. For the first time for hours Jimmy breathed a great sigh of relief; but so apprehensive of accidents was he that while they passed through the town he shrank into his coat as a turtle shrinks modestly into its shell. He was terrified lest the man have some cause to stop in front of a shop. All he craved was the country, and a whole lot of it, with untenanted roads.

Out at the works he produced his letters as a passport. The big office thrummed with typewriters and activity. From outside came the strident sounds of industry and somehow they cheered and encouraged him. His bouyant nature leapt to the call. He was eager to become part of it, and to be identified with it. He forgot his tribulations and was Jimmy Gollop again when led through an opened door into the presence of Mr. Holmes, general superintendent. The man arose to meet him and thrust out a firm hand.

"So you are Mr. Gollop, eh? Name's familiar around these parts. Hope you're not the chap that played the joke on old Granger, because if you are—well—you'd better stay away from Princetown, is all I've got to say!" And his laugh was so free and hearty that Jimmy acted on intuition and whispered most ruefully, "By heck! I am! Help me out, can't you? They'd——"

"Tar and feather you!" laughed the superintendent. "But—are you really the famous Mr. Gollop? Those spectacles——"

Jimmy dared all and swept them off. The superintendent scrutinized him closely and then exclaimed, "Well, upon my word, it's remarkable! You do look like the Judge's twin. What on earth made you look like that old stiff? You two must have come from the standardized face factory. If I looked like him, I'd be sad. But I hope to heavens you aren't like him. I've as much use for him as I have for a three legged elephant with an affectionate disposition who is looking for someone to lean on for support. Well, now to business. I got a telegram explaining things. I'm at your disposal. We need a live man to handle the sales and publicity end of this concern if ever anyone did. That's the only part that the old man has ever neglected."

"I've got a letter to him also," said Jim, producing it.

"I was told that," said the superintendent, reaching for his hat; "but unfortunately Mr. Sayers is not here. Won't be back for a week or ten days. Gone scouting to see what the rival concerns have got in the way of improvements. They can't steal a march on him. He's absolutely the keenest man in his line on earth! And—see here!—I'll give you a tip. If you can make good with old Tom Sayers, you've no need to worry. He runs this whole plant as if it were a family. Knows every man in it. Calls most of the men by their first names. Gives bonuses and encouragement to the right ones, and fires the dead wood. Doesn't care a hang about anything except making the Sayers car the best on earth because he's proud of it. And—it is! I say so!"

Jim liked that spirit. It promised well. And while he was disappointed not to see Sayers, he was ready to plunge into work with enthusiasm, and did.

Two days later he said to the superintendent, in the privacy of the office, "My conclusion is that your selling organization is a muck. It's been neglected. It's no good. It runs itself without any real head. In fact, you've no head to it at all except Wiggins, the old chap with antiquated ideas, but who is a man I would advise keeping on. He knows he can't handle it, and says he would like to work under someone with new ideas."

And then for a half hour he expanded while the superintendent listened, asked questions, sometimes argued, and finally approved.

"Of course," he said, finally, "your ideas are new. But they are ingenious, and I think very promising. I shall back them up. I like them. They sound hustling. I will recommend them to the old man for all I'm worth, and I believe if you can make him see them, adopt them, and carry them out, we can work together and make things hum. Now here's a bit of advice. Old Tom Sayers likes plain, practical statements that he can weigh and consider. Put all your proposed plans into writing. Put down hard, concrete facts in terse English. Make it as brief as possible. Don't be afraid to criticise if you can suggest improvements. Don't mince words. He loves simplicity and frankness. And if you do as I say in that regard, and make plain to him the ideas you've made plain to me—you'll get the job, and we'll make a success because I'll work with you to make it succeed. I believe in the old man, and in what he makes, and defy anyone to turn out a better car than we can."

He thumped his fist on the arm of his chair as if challenging Jimmy or the world at large, and Jimmy was highly encouraged. There was but one great fear in his mind.

"Do you think—do you think—that Granger affair is likely to prejudice me in Mr. Sayers' estimation?" he asked, almost appealingly.

The superintendent frowned thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "I don't know. Honestly I don't! Mr. Sayers is a peculiar man. Nobody ever quite knows what he thinks until he opens his mouth, and then it comes out straight and plain. No frills. No evasions. If he likes a man, he likes him. If he doesn't like him—that ends it. I don't have any idea what he really thinks of Granger. The Judge visits the old man's house when Mrs. Sayers and the daughter are there, but Mrs. Sayers is not the old man—by a long shot! She's a social climber. The old man doesn't give a hang about society, or pink teas. He makes automobiles and believes in efficiency. Granger's not the old man's sort at all. Too stuck up. If I were you, I'd wait until the old man finds out that you're the man who played the joke, and when he asks you about the inside of it, tell him the truth just the same as you did me. If you can show him, before then, that you are the man to market the Sayers car, it's my opinion that the Judge, and his likes, or dislikes, will amount to about as much as a tallow candle at an arc-light party. Anyhow, I wish you luck, and I'll boost for you because I think you deserve it!"

Holmes studied for a moment and said, "By the way, if you could dictate your plan for the new sales organization, I could lend you a bright stenographer who is chain lightning at—well, what is it?"

He stopped and swung around in his swivel chair as a girl from the outer office entered with a card which she handed him.

"That's the name he gave, sir. He said he must see you at once, because he's the deputy sheriff."

Jimmy's heart lost a beat. The superintendent grinned, pursed his lips as if to whistle, and then he said, "Tell him I'm busy but will be at leisure in less than five minutes. Tell him to wait outside. Five minutes, remember!"

The girl went out and the door had barely closed behind her when Holmes muttered to Jimmy, "Here! Come here, quickly. Into this wash room with you, and lock the door on the inside. Keyhole it if you wish, because this sounds mighty funny to me."

And a minute later when the deputy sheriff was invited to enter he found the superintendent alone, and the listening Jimmy heard, "What can I do for you?"

"The office has been told that there's a chap named Gollop around the works here—chap who looks like Judge Granger. You know what he's wanted for. Got a warrant for his arrest"

"All I know is that he ought to be arrested if he looks like the Judge," growled Holmes, and then, "No, can't say that there's any such a man here. You might look through the works. But—who told you there was such a man here?"

"We got the tip from your man Wiggins."

"Oh! Wiggins, eh? Wait a minute."

Jim heard a buzzer and then the voice of a clerk, "Yes, sir."

"Send Wiggins in to me immediately," ordered the superintendent. There was an interval of silence and then further conversation.

"Oh, Wiggins. Have you seen that man Gollop around lately? If so where is he now?"

"Why—why—I thought he was—thought he came this way, sir," stammered Wiggins with an embarassment that was palpable to the listening Jimmy.

"You thought? Mr. Wiggins, I'm afraid that some day thinking too much will be the death of you! What time does Mr. Gollop show up in the morning?"

"He's usually here when I come, sir," replied the perturbed and conscience-stricken Wiggins.

"Well, to-morrow morning when he comes send him in to me, but—Wiggins! Don't say a word what I want him for. You can go now."

A door banged, and Jimmy heard the superintendent's voice assume a highly confidential tone.

"That makes it easy, if he's the man you're after. I doubt that, however. This chap is near-sighted and wears blue glasses. But here's what I'll do. When Mr. Gollop comes to-morrow I'll keep him here in my office and will telephone you, then you can come out at once and see if he's the culprit. Will that do?"

"Certainly the very best way to do it," said the deputy sheriff, and then Jimmy heard him depart with apologies and thanks for a cigar that Holmes had evidently given him.

Immediately afterward the door opened and the superintendent growled, "Now you see how evil companionship contaminates a man! You've got me into this infernal mixup of yours; but—hang it all!—I can't see a good man get the worst of it on account of that egotistical, swell-headed Granger. And—besides, I've had a letter from the old man himself telling me confidentially that the Martin people recommend you very highly and suggesting that in case you get into trouble through the Judge I'm to look out for you to the limit. The limit with old Tom Sayers has never yet been found. So I've got to make good. Besides all that, there's another reason that's entirely my own, which is that I think this shebang needs your services, and I work first, last and all the time for the best interests of the Sayers Automobile Company. So I'm not going to let a tin rooster like Granger interfere with our business in any way if I can help it. Where's your luggage?"

"Over in Mrs. Clancey's house—the place where you recommended me to stop while here."

The superintendent stepped to the door leading out into the office and beckoned to a confidential clerk, who promptly came into the office.

"Smith, go over to Mrs. Clancey's and pack Mr. Gollop's suit case and bring it here as soon as you can. Tell her Mr. Gollop has gone—called away hurriedly; just in time to catch a train; no time to pack. And—see here, Smith—you're to forget it all the very minute after the job is done! Understand?"

"Very well, sir," said Smith, with a grin, and disappeared.

Before the door had closed Holmes was at the plant telephone, and Jimmy was compelled to admire the way in which he avoided all waste of time.

"Garage?" questioned the superintendent. "Good! Tell Hawkins to get out that new roadster we fixed up for Mr. Sayers, see that she's all ready for a run, and bring her around to the office door for me."

As he hung up the receiver the whistle blew and outside could be heard the droning diminuendo of machinery brought to a stop, denoting that another day's work was done, and this was followed by the thrumming of feet and the murmur of voices as the workmen departed. The superintendent got up and pulled down the window shade.

"Just as well to make certain that no one sees you sitting in here," he said, as he again reached for the 'phone, called up his home and said that he would not be home until late that night because he was detained on business, and then proceeded in a deliberate and methodical way to clear up his desk.

It was just twenty minutes later when the two men walked out of the office and to the waiting roadster. The big plant looked idle and deserted. The superintendent gave some words of caution to the man Hawkins, took his seat, told Jim to climb in, and the machine moved slowly forward, picked up speed as if glad to be off on a journey, and began singing its steady, rhythmic song of the road.

"I've got twenty-eight miles to run to get you across the state line," said the superintendent, settling into his seat and handling the wheel like a veteran driver. "In summer I could do it in just twenty-eight minutes with this car, but it'll take a little longer now. Once across the line you can twiddle your thumb up against your nose at anything Granger can do, and go back to New York, or any other place you choose, to make out your written report for the old man. Either give it to the Martin people, or forward it to the works in my care, because I can't give you the old man's address. He jumps here and there like a kangaroo when he goes on one of his scouting trips. We never know where he is. Some car, this, eh?"

Jim's teeth rattled as he shouted his agreement; but, notwithstanding his desire to get out of the state, he would have preferred to take a little more time for the journey. The frost-laden wind threatened to tear him to pieces; behind the goggles with which he had been provided his eyes streamed rivulets of tears, and he wondered how many somersaults the car would turn if it happened to hit any solid obstacle. The coolness of Holmes, who appeared to be lolling back in his seat with an air of calm indifference to wind, weather, and speed, exasperated him, but he dared not show the white feather and beg for mercy, so shut his teeth, clenched his hands and tried to keep from holding his breath.

Their pace did not slacken in the least when they came to two white posts and he heard the superintendent's shout, "Across, all right! Two miles more to town and I think we'll get to the railway station in time for you to catch the eastbound flyer. Looked up the time-table in the office before we started. Take chances on speed laws——" and then fragmentary words of comment not always audible.

They whizzed through the outskirts of a town, skidded a corner, saw a railway station from behind which a plume of smoke and steam was ascending, and came to an abrupt halt by a platform. Jim had no time to purchase a ticket but made a flying leap with his suitcase and caught the train after it was in motion. He looked back and waved his hand at the superintendent, who was already turning the roadster for its home journey, and it seemed to Mr. James Gollop that this was the first time in several hours when he had been able to take a full, comforting, and free breath.

"If that sort of riding is part of the regular automobile business," he said to himself as he fell into the nearest seat, "you're foredoomed to be a failure, Jimmy, my boy! You ought to practice on something slow, like a comet or a cyclone!"

His equanimity restored he went to the Pullman conductor and applied for a berth.

"Got just one left—an upper—number seventeen. Here, boy, go and bring the gentleman's baggage to seventeen in this car."

"Everything is coming my way! My luck has turned!" quoth Jimmy, relieved by the knowledge that he would not be compelled to ride all night in a day coach. "She's a joyous world, after all!"

So happy was he in his optimism that when installed in his Pullman seat he gave the porter a bright, new dollar, and began to think forward to the delights of the dining car. The man who had the lower berth in the section seemed one of those individuals who prefer to keep aloof from others; for, absorbed in a newspaper that he held high above his face to catch the light from behind, he had never even so much as glanced at his prospective section companion. As if he had finished reading something of especial interest he now for the first time lowered it and suddenly sat erect and exclaimed, "Well, I'll be confounded!"

And Jimmy, startled, recognized Judge Granger and retorted, "You confounded well might be! Toss you to see who jumps off this train—you or I."



CHAPTER XIII

"This," growled the Judge, glaring at Jimmy, "is an outrage!"

"Agreed!" retorted Jimmy, at first sufficiently annoyed to have wished that he and the Judge were in some situation where they might punch each other's heads, and then, reverting to his habitual good humor, smiling and finally emitting a chuckle. "You do seem to get in my way a lot. Honestly, you've no idea what an annoyance you are to me."

"Annoyance to you? That's good!" growled the Judge. "I annoy you!"

"You do! You do!" retorted Jimmy. "I suppose you've caused me more trouble one time and another than any other man I ever met. Isn't it about time we buried the hatchet and forgot all about that joke of mine up at Yimville? I've apologized in every way I could think of."

As if the reference to Yimville had proved unfortunate, the Judge's face flushed with anger and he bent forward and shook a threatening finger at Jimmy and declared, "I never make terms with a malefactor. If you had an idea that I am the type of man to use as the butt for a silly, asinine jest, I'll teach you to think differently. Mark that and remember it!"

"Oh, come now!" Jimmy protested. "That's no way to look at things. It's unbecoming of a man of your importance to cherish animosity for an insignificant chap like I am. If we can't be friends, you might at least be big enough to leave me alone."

The Judge snorted with contempt.

"How far are you going?" he finally growled, after a prolonged inspection of the imperturbable Jimmy.

"Baltimore. Why? Like to get off where I do so you can keep with better company than yourself? You can get off there if you wish. I don't own the town."

This seemed the final straw to the camel's burden; for the Judge suddenly popped up in his seat, called to the Pullman conductor who happened to be standing at a little distance down the aisle, and when the latter approached asked, "Isn't there any possible way of exchanging my berth for another?"

"Yes, do help him out, Conductor," implored Jimmy with marked solicitude. "He doesn't like me a bit."

The Pullman potentate stared at the two men incredulously, now that he noted their physical similarity, and, accepting it as a banter, remarked, "Can't see why twin brothers should disagree."

"I'll not brook any of your impudence," thundered the Judge in such unmistakable anger that the conductor speedily became apologetic, and consulted his book.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said; "a stateroom reservation ordered for Harmonsville has been canceled. You are going through to Washington, aren't you? Well, you can have that on payment of the extra fare."

"Let him have it. I'll pay the difference if he's at all short," Jimmy urged, hopefully. "It's very kind of you, Conductor, because he's not feeling at all well. What he needs is a long rest."

"What you need is a jail," growled the Judge, and ordered his luggage removed to the vacant stateroom.

"See that the windows are closed, Conductor," said Jimmy. "He catches cold so easily. Frightfully delicate and sensitive. Been that way since he was but a dear little child. Do take care of him, won't you?"

But the Judge, purple with anger, stalked majestically away from his tormentor without arriving at any adequate reply, and Jimmy was left alone. In the gray, cold dawn of four o'clock the next morning, as Jim followed the porter out, he paused behind just long enough to rap loudly on the Judge's stateroom door and to explain, "Baltimore. I'm leaving you now. Pleasant journey!"

But presumably from the Judge's remarks, this little parting courtesy was not appreciated, although it afforded the cheerful Jimmy some amusement as he made his way out of the station. Indeed, considering that inhospitable hour of the morning, he was made fairly happy by what the Judge said. Furthermore, to palliate the dreariness of the winter morning, was the thought that now he could break the news of his discharge to his mother because he could couple it with a hopeful prospect.

For two whole days, and considerable portions of the nights, Jimmy plunged headlong into his proposed organization of a sales and publicity department for the Sayers Company, and his lively imagination stimulated itself as his enthusiasm grew. Expert salesman that he was, and untrammeled by traditions of the motor car trade, his originality found full vent, and, all unaware of it, he proposed plans that would have been seized upon by any progressive and daring firm in the automobile industry. In fact "he builded better than he knew"; but, after his manuscript had been duly typed and mailed, he suffered anxious hours thinking of how this or that part of his scheme might have been improved, and went through all that mental agony with which every composer reviews his completed work when too late for alteration. At the end of the second day's wait he became fearful, and at the end of the third day was beginning to lose hope. On the fourth day he said, somberly, "Well, Maw, I reckon it was a flivver! I've got to get back to New York to-morrow and look for a job in my own line."

His optimism was being sorely tried; but his courage was still unweakened. It was while he was packing his suit case on the following morning that a telegram came.

"Meet me at Engineers' Club at noon to-morrow, Martin."

Even the message offered small consolation or encouragement; but it was his way to hope for the best, so he whistled bravely as he left his home. He put in all his spare time, after arrival in New York, in visiting automobile agencies and studying as far as possible their selling methods, and he absorbed information as a dry sponge thrown into a whirlpool absorbs water. He made notes in his memorandum book after each visit and soliloquized, "If nothing comes of the Sayers thing, I'll have learned a whole lot more than I ever knew about this car business, and some day it might prove worth while. I can at least walk up to a motor car now and look it in the face and shake its hand as if we were old acquaintances; I used to take off my hat to a taxicab, but now I regard 'em as errand boys running here and there through the streets. This car line is a mighty big game, after all."

And it was with this feeling that he entered the Engineers' Club and was met in the hallway by Martin, who had just arrived.

"On time, I see—I like that," was the elder man's greeting. "Now, first of all, we shall have lunch, because I'm hungry. I never talk business during meals. I believe in relaxation."

"But—but—what's the use in eating when there's anything more important to do?" asked Jimmy, eager to hear Martin's verdict.

"Nothing is as important as eating when one is hungry," was his host's remark, and Jimmy had to be content. "Hope you had a nice trip out to Princetown?" was Martin's next remark, and Jimmy gave him a highly humorous account of what that nice trip was like, much to Martin's amusement.

"This—this Granger person does seem to bear you a grudge," he commented. "Have you made any attempt to calm him down by rubbing his ears, or stroking his fur the right way?"

And then Jimmy became serious and said, "Yes, I did try to get him to bury the hatchet when I met him on the train," and detailed that unhappy conversation. "You see," he added, boyishly, "I didn't care much what he thought of me; but I thought it was my duty to get the whole affair wiped off the slate if Mr. Sayers decided to give me a chance. It wouldn't be fair to Mr. Sayers to have a man of the Judge's influence angry with one of the company's employees. If I get that place, I've got to fill it well. I've just naturally got to do it!"

"Um-m-mh! Do you intend to tell Sayers all about it?"

"Of course I do."

"But—but suppose, after he heard the story, he declined to employ you?"

"I can't help that," said Jimmy ruefully. "It wouldn't be fair and honest to take the place unless he knew all about my reputation out there."

"Is it your habit to confide all your mistakes to your employer?" his host asked, as if surprised.

"Of course," asserted Jimmy. "When I work for a man, I'm his and whether he likes it or not he's more or less responsible for what I do. And, what's more, I feel responsible for him. If anything fails in the goods I sell, I'm as hurt over it as if I had made 'em. I worked for one man I didn't like, and he didn't like me; but we got along for the sole reason that we both believed in his line of stuff because it was honest. It was the only thing we ever did agree on. And I suppose I'd have been with him yet if he hadn't sold out to a company that began to make inferior stuff to add to the profits."

After luncheon they found a secluded corner and Martin said, "Well, young man, now we shall get down to brass tacks. I read that report you made and I can think of a few objections you might have to meet before you can get the position, and there are some other points that might come up and require explanation."

And then, with shrewdness, he began his discussion of Jimmy's plan, and no expert investigator could have made a more exhaustive examination than he did. Jimmy's wits were sharpened by this catechism, and his ideas improved and grew apace. He even admitted that he had studied the sales methods of other firms and apparently gained the elder man's approval for his activity and judgment.

The afternoon daylight had waned before they realized the passage of time, and Martin consulted his watch and said, "So far we seemed to have threshed this matter out pretty thoroughly; but there's one very important detail you've neglected, and that is to state what you expect in the way of salary."

"By jingoes!" exclaimed Jimmy, straightening in his seat. "I forgot all about that. Do you know, I got so interested in working out this project that I never so much as gave the pay part of it a thought?"

Martin laughed as if delighted by such an absurdity.

"Well," he remarked, "if that's the way you handle your private affairs it doesn't look promising for whoever employs you. No, I'll retract that, and on second thought reverse that judgment. I'll say that if you invariably put your employer's interests before your own your sole chance to succeed is to become a member of any firm you work for. I suggest that you put that up to—Sayers."

"Don't quite get you," said Jimmy, as if puzzled. "You aren't having fun with me, are you?"

"I am not," asserted the shrewd old business man. "I'm in earnest."

"But mightn't Mr. Sayers think I had an awful nerve? Perhaps he'd not give me a chance at all and—I want that job because I'd like to prove that there's a little more to me than a comic supplement. I need money, but about the biggest reward a man can get is the absolute conviction that he made good."

Martin studied Jim's face with a look of warm approbation, but Jimmy, entirely unaware of the scrutiny, stared into the fireplace with eyes that seemed glowing with big dreams.

"If I thought Mr. Sayers wouldn't think me a fool," he said, almost as if to himself, "I'd like to have him give me a chance with these schemes of mine on this basis: That I'd go to work for him for my bare living expenses—I'd work for just half the salary I got from the Columbus people—and that he would give me a percentage and all the increase of sales. And—I'd like to take that payment in stock in the business, so that if I did make a big success of it, I'd feel thereafter, year by year, that I was hustling for myself as well as the Sayers Company."

"You know that it's not an ordinary corporation, don't you?" Martin asked. "No? Well it's the closest corporation I know. Sayers owns seventy-five per cent of it. His daughter is the next largest stockholder, and his superintendent has practically all the remainder which, by the way, was given him as a bonus for efficient work."

"Phew!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I didn't know Mr. Holmes was a stockholder, or I'd have been more circumspect. Good Lord! I criticised the selling organization and roasted it from top to bottom, and even told him one or two things I thought might improve his plant. Just my luck! I'll never get sense enough to keep my mouth shut about things over which I enthuse."

"There's where you are wrong. The superintendent has given you the biggest boost I ever knew one man to give another. He says you are the livest wire he ever met and that the plant must have you at any price; says that he never met a man in his life whose head was so filled with new and original ideas and that half the time you had him dazed with trying to keep up with you. So, you see, it paid you to be frank and outspoken with him at least, and—Sayers thinks a lot of what that superintendent says! I can tell you that."

He stopped, relighted his half-burned cigar, appeared to consider for a time while Jimmy, waiting his friendly advice, watched him eagerly, and then said, "Well, Gollop, I'll tell you something more. I've been authorized to go fully into this thing with you, and to decide it. The job is yours, on the terms you propose, save for this. You shall draw exactly the same salary that the Columbus Company paid you. You shall have a full year in which to prove that your management of your department is good, or a failure. If you succeed, you're made for life. If you fail you can expect nothing at all in the way of leniency from old Tom Sayers, because he's as hard hearted an old wretch as ever began at the very bottom and worked himself to wherever he now is by hard knocks and worshiping efficiency."

Jimmy suddenly gasped, and then impulsively reached forward and clutched the elder man's hand in both his own.

"I'm not going to fail," he said, simply, "because that would be a slam on your judgment and—you've been mighty kind to me, Mr. Martin and—I can't throw down a friend. If for no other reason on earth I'll make good or bust myself trying, just because you got me the chance. I mean it! I do! And——" He hesitated and then added, almost timidly—"I'm so desperately eager to make a big success of this that—would you mind, if I get worried, or doubtful—like a chap does sometimes if—if I came to you for advice? You're so deucedly sane and wise, and the only thing I seem to lack is plain horse sense!"