gers, and the other boy guessed whether the head or
point was toward him. It was a great study in psychology. The boy who
held the pin had to do as much guessing as the other one. Having held
forward heads the first time, should he reverse the pin the second
time, or repeat heads? In so far as one of the two boys correctly
gaged the elaborateness of the other's mental process he was winner.
At the age when he played this game Wallingford usually had all the
pins in school. Now he was out-guessing the Doc Turner crowd. He had
foreseen every step in their mental process; he had foreseen that
they would start an opposition company; he had foreseen their
extravagant belief in his "pull," knowing what he did of their
previous experience, and he had foreseen that now they would offer
to buy up the stock held by his office force, so as to secure control,
before opening fresh negotiations for the stock he had offered them.

That very night Doc Turner called at the house of Billy Whipple to ask
where he could get a good bird-dog, young Whipple being known as a
gifted amateur in dogs. Billy, nothing loath, took Doc out to the
kennel, where, by a fortunate coincidence, of which Mr. Turner had
known nothing, of course, he happened to have a fine set of puppies.
These Mr. Turner admired in a more or less perfunctory fashion.

"By the way, Billy," he by and by inquired, "how do you like your
position?"

"Oh, so-so," replied Billy. "The job looks good to me. Wallingford has
started a very successful business."

"How much does he pay you?"

Billy reflected. It was easy enough to let a lie slip off his tongue,
but Turner had access to the books.

"Twenty-five dollars a week," he said.

"You owe a lot to Wallingford," observed Mr. Turner. "It's the best
pay you ever drew."

"Yes, it is pretty good," admitted Billy; "but I don't owe Wallingford
any more than I owe myself."

In the dark Mr. Turner slowly placed his palms together.

"You're a bright boy," said Mr. Turner. "Billy, I don't like to see a
stranger come in here and gobble up the community's money. It ought
to stay in the hands of home folks. I'd like to get control of that
business. If you'll sell me your share of stock I might be able to
handle it, and if I can I'll advance your wages to thirty-five dollars
a week."

"You're a far pleasanter man than Wallingford," said Billy amiably.
"You're a smarter man, a better man, a handsomer man! When do we start
on that t