act that the problem of Ginger's future had been
solved. Ginger had entered the service of the Fillmore Nicholas
Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. (Managing Director, Fillmore
Nicholas)--Fillmore would have made the title longer, only that was all
that would go on the brass plate--and was to be found daily in the outer
office, his duties consisting mainly, it seemed, in reading the evening
papers. What exactly he was, even Ginger hardly knew. Sometimes he felt
like the man at the wheel, sometimes like a glorified office boy, and
not so very glorified at that. For the most part he had to prevent the
mob rushing and getting at Fillmore, who sat in semi-regal state in the
inner office pondering great schemes.

But, though there might be an occasional passing uncertainty in Ginger's
mind as to just what he was supposed to be doing in exchange for the
fifty dollars he drew every Friday, there was nothing uncertain about
his gratitude to Sally for having pulled the strings and enabled him to
do it. He tried to thank her every time they met, and nowadays they
were meeting frequently; for Ginger was helping her to furnish her new
apartment. In this task, he spared no efforts. He said that it kept him
in condition.

"And what I mean to say is," said Ginger, pausing in the act of carrying
a massive easy chair to the third spot which Sally had selected in the
last ten minutes, "if I didn't sweat about a bit and help you after the
way you got me that job..."

"Ginger, desist," said Sally.

"Yes, but honestly..."

"If you don't stop it, I'll make you move that chair into the next
room."

"Shall I?" Ginger rubbed his blistered hands and took a new grip.
"Anything you say."

"Silly! Of course not. The only other rooms are my bedroom, the bathroom
and the kitchen. What on earth would I want a great lumbering chair in
them for? All the same, I believe the first we chose was the best."

"Back she goes, then, what?"

Sally reflected frowningly. This business of setting up house was
causing her much thought.

"No," she decided. "By the window is better." She looked at him
remorsefully. "I'm giving you a lot of trouble."

"Trouble!" Ginger, accompanied by a chair, staggered across the room.
"The way I look at it is this." He wiped a bead of perspiration from his
freckled forehead. "You got me that job, and..."

"Stop!"

"Right ho... Still, you did, you know."

Sally sat down in the armchair and stretched herself. Watching Ginge