itials at that!

X

Andrew Barrett was made office-manager as well as business-getter. He
was ordered to pay for the two additional clerks and the bookkeeper out
of his own commissions or resign. He paid. This was real business
because even then young Mr. Barrett was overpaid for his work. But his
real acumen was in recognizing a great man.

Since the pay-roll was a matter of Mr. Andrew Barrett's personally
selected statistics, H. R. was certainly a wonder.

On Tuesday morning H. R., feeling that his own greatness had already
become merely a matter of greater greatness, turned, manlike, to
thoughts of love: he would share his greatness!

He would make Grace Goodchild marry him. He was sure he would succeed.
He saw very clearly, indeed, how Mr. Goodchild, being a conservative
banker, could be compelled to say yes.

In addition he would make Grace love him.

The strongest love is that love which is stronger than hatred or fear.
Therefore the love that begins by hating or fearing is best. To overcome
the inertia of non-loving is not so difficult as to stop the backward
motion and turn it into forward.

He sat down and wrote a note:

DEAR GRACE, I am sending you herewith a few clippings.
Remember what I told you. Don't let father prejudice you.
Hope to see you soon. Busy as the dickens.

Yours,
H. R.

_P.S._--I love you because you are _You!_ Certainly I am
crazy. But, dear, _I know it_!

With the note he sent her eighty-three inches of clippings and fourteen
pictures. If that wasn't fame, what was? He also sent flowers.

That afternoon before the _the dansant_ hour he called at the Goodchild
residence.

"Miss Goodchild!" he said to the man, instead of asking for her. He
pulled out his watch, looked at it, and before the man could say he
would see if she were at home to H. R., added, "Yes!"

He was punctual, as the man could see. The man therefore held out a
silver card-tray.

"Say it's Mr. Rutgers," H. R. told him. "And straighten out that rug.
You've walked over it a dozen times!"

It was plain to see that it was H. R. who really owned this house. He
must, since he wasn't afraid of the servants. And the worst of it was
that the footman could not resent it: the gentleman was so obviously
accustomed to regarding servants as domestic furniture. He dehumanized
footmen, deprived them of souls, left them merely arms and legs to obey,
machine-like. They call such "well