Today Wilbur found himself at a loss for rhymes. By mid-morning he had
completed only fifteen poems in praise of Mother. He still had some
fifty to go. But instead of writing he too often caught himself
listening to what was going on in the outer office.

"Mr. Bellows--" the new girl started to say.

"Call me Pete," Wilbur heard Bellows tell her. "I'll call you Jean. Just
one happy family, you know, you and I and Wilbur."

"Does Mr. Mook write all the poetry?" Miss Burnett wanted to know. She
sounded quite impressed and Wilbur glowed with a new found pride.

"Just a knack. Doesn't take any brains," Bellows deprecated. "Any fool
could do it."

I'd like to see you try, Wilbur thought. You're one fool who couldn't.
He thought that was pretty good repartee, even if it was only mental.
Wilbur wished he had the nerve to say the words to Bellows' face. But he
didn't.

His newspaper, still folded to the classified ads, reposed in Wilbur's
wastebasket and his eyes chanced to fall upon it. Something stirred in
Wilbur. There had been one advertisement in particular. Just below the
request for a bodyguard. He wondered if he had read it right.

Keeping one eye on the window to make sure Bellows did not observe him,
Wilbur retrieved his newspaper. Quickly his eye sped down the column.
There it was:

Are you timid? Do you lack confidence? I can help you. A. J. Merlin,
136 W. Erie St.

Wilbur shook his head and dropped the newspaper into the wastebasket. He
was rather inclined to think A. J. Merlin was overestimating his powers.
Probably a fake, anyway. Most of those fellows were.

Looking out of his window, Wilbur saw Bellows patting Jean on the
shoulder as he explained something to her. He was a fast worker, was
Pete Bellows. By the time Wilbur got the next line of poetry written
Bellows was asking Jean if he could take her to lunch.

Before answering she turned her head toward Wilbur and he could see that
she was none too happy about the offer. She seemed to be trying to think
of a good reason for not accepting.

"Well?" Pete asked. Jean looked back at him.

"I--I guess so," Wilbur heard her say. Bellows patted her on the
shoulder again.

I wonder, Wilbur thought, what she would say if I asked her sometime?
That looked like a question which would never find an answer. It would
take more nerve than he had to ask. But the very thought of him inviting
a girl like Jean to lunch sent a pleasant tingle down