ers." And he tumbled into bed in an injured and yet
independent frame of mind.

But the next morning he reread the formal little letter in a new light.
To be sure, it was from Edith's cousin. He knew him very well; he was
not a person to go out of his way to interfere with anybody, and more
than likely it was in relation to Edith's affairs that he was asked to
call. That thought put a new aspect on the matter. Of course if it
concerned her interests he ought to go. He dressed with unusual care for
him in these days, breakfasted at the cheap restaurant which he
frequented, and before noon was in the Fletcher warehouse in Pearl
Street.

He had never been there before, and he was somewhat curious to see what
sort of a place it was where Gilbert carried on the string business,
as he used to call it when speaking to Edith of her cousin's occupation.
It was a much more dingy and smelly place than he expected, but the carts
about the doors, and the bustle of loading and unloading, of workmen
hauling and pulling, and of clerks calling out names and numbers to be
registered and checked, gave him the impression that it was not a dull
place.

Mr. Fletcher received him in the little dim back office with a cordial
shake of the hand, gave him a chair, and reseated himself, pushing back
the papers in front of him with the air of a very busy man who was
dropping for a moment one thing in order to give his mind promptly to
another.

"Our fall trade is just starting up," he said, "and it keeps us all
pretty busy."

"Yes," said Jack. "I could drop in any other time--"

"No, no," interrupted Mr. Fletcher; "it is just because I am busy that I
wanted to see you. Are you engaged in anything?"

"Nothing in particular," replied Jack, hesitating. "I'd thought of going
into some business." And then, after a pause: "It's no use to mince
matters. You know--everybody knows, I suppose--that I got hit in that
Henderson panic."

"So did lots of others," replied Mr. Fletcher, cheerfully. "Yes, I know
about it. And I'm not sure but it was a lucky thing for me." He spoke
still more cheerfully, and Jack looked at him inquiringly.

"Are you open to an offer?"

"I'm open to almost anything," Jack answered, with a puzzled look.

"Well," and Mr. Fletcher settled back in his chair, "I can give you the
situation in five minutes. I've been in this business over thirty years
--yes; over thirty-five years. It has grown, little by little, until
it's a