e as some street in Kansas
City or San Francisco.

There were three reasons for this, any one of which would have
accounted for the phenomenon: he was on his way to secure a job; he
had in his pocket just thirteen cents; and he was hungry.

The stores before which he always stopped for a leisurely inspection
of their contents took on a different air this morning. Quite
automatically he paused before one and another of them and inspected
the day's display of cravats and waistcoats. But, with only thirteen
cents in his pocket, a new element entered into his consideration of
these things--the element of cost. It was at the florist's that his
situation was brought home to him even more keenly. Frances liked
flowers, and she liked to receive them from him. Here were roses that
looked as if they had been plucked for her. But they were behind a big
plate-glass window. He had never noted before that, besides being
transparent, plate-glass was also thick and hard. And he was hungry.
The fact continually intruded itself.

At last he reached the address that Barton had given him. "Carter,
Rand & Seagraves, Investment Securities," read the inscription on the
window. He passed through the revolving doors and entered the office.

A boy in buttons approached and took his card.

"Mr. Carter, Mr. Rand, or Mr. Seagraves," said Don.

The boy was soon back.

"Mr. Farnsworth will see you in a few minutes," he reported.

"Farnsworth?" inquired Don.

"He's the gent what sees every one," explained the boy. "Ticker's over
there."

He pointed to a small machine upon a stand, which was slowly unfurling
from its mouth a long strip of paper such as prestidigitators produce
from silk hats. Don crossed to it, and studied the strip with
interest. It was spattered with cryptic letters and figures, much like
those he had learned to use indifferently well in a freshman course in
chemistry. The only ones he recalled just then were H_2O and CO_2, and
he amused himself by watching to see if they turned up.

"Mr. Pendleton?"

Don turned to find a middle-aged gentleman standing before him with
outstretched hand.

"Mr. Barton wrote to us about you," Farnsworth continued briskly. "I
believe he said you had no business experience."

"No," admitted Don.

"Harvard man?"

Don named his class.

"Your father was well known to us. We are willing to take you on for a
few months, if you wish to try the work. Of course, until you learn
something o