write an order for a thousand as for ten. And it's easier to do
business with big men. They're more imaginative, quicker to grasp."

"That's how they got there," Honey interjected.

"But particularly, Honey, these men are all keen students of human
nature. They can size a man up--gee! 'Brown's able,' says one. 'Yes,
but he's tricky,' says another. 'Carpenter's honest, but he's a fool.'
With the 'gold bugs' credit is a combination of honesty and ability."

Skinner sipped his demi-tasse reflectively.

"Honey, you remember what Russell Sage said in reply to Horace
Greeley's, 'Go West, young man!' No? Well, this is what he said: 'If
you want to make money, go where the money is.' _I 've_ begun to go
where the money is. See the connection?"

"I'm glad you have," said Honey, nodding her head. "Those clerks you
used to travel with never thought big thoughts or they would n't have
been clerks."

"But remember, Honey, I'm only a clerk."

"But you never did belong in the clerk class."

"You're right! I never did! I'm beginning to realize it now. Why, do
you know,"--leaning over the table and counting off his words with his
finger,--"I've had ideas that if I 'd only been able to carry out,
ideas that I got right in that little cage of mine--"

Thus Skinner's education progressed. He took as enthusiastic a delight
in studying the "gold bugs" as a naturalist would in some very ancient,
but recently discovered, insect.

"I 'm finding out lots of good things in that Pullman Club, Honey,"
said Skinner a week later at the dinner table. "Every one of these
'gold bugs' has something under his skin. They may be Dick Turpins and
Claude Duvals and Sam Basses, their methods of getting things may not
be ideal, but you can't beat their methods of giving. They've all got
lovable qualities. They do a lot of things that show it--and they
don't use a brass band accompaniment either."

"For instance?" said Honey, simply and sweetly.

"Well," said Skinner, "take old John Mackensie. He's so close that
they say his grandfather was the man who chased the last Jew out of
Aberdeen."

Skinner picked up the paper.

"See those initials, honey? 'D. C. D.'"

"I've noticed them."

"Old Mackensie, when he was a boy, came near starving to death. A
reporter got hold of his case and printed a paragraph about it just
like those you see every day. I got it on the quiet. Mackensie was
saved by an anonymous friend who signed h