"All right," Henderson grunted. "You're the doctor. Be giving Fred a

chance to prove one of his theories. Personally I believe you'd make a

go of selling right off the bat, and a good salesman is wasted in the

mechanical line. When you feel that you've saturated your system with

valve clearances and compression formulas and gear ratios and all the

rest of the shop dope, come and see me. I'll give you a try-out on the

selling end. For the present, report to Fred."

He reached for some papers on the desk. His manner, no less than his

words, ended the interview. Thompson rose.

"When can you start in?" young Henderson inquired.

"Any time," Thompson responded quickly. He was, in truth, a trifle eager

to see what made the wheels go round in that establishment. "I only have

to change my clothes."

"Come after lunch then," young Henderson suggested. "Take the elevator

to the top floor. Ask one of the men where you'll find me. Bring your

overalls with you. We have a dressing room and lockers on each floor."

He nodded good-by and turned to his father. Thompson made his exit.

Half a block away he turned to look back at the house of Henderson. It

was massive, imposing, the visible sign of a prosperous concern, the

manifestation of business on a big scale. Groya Motors, Inc. It was

lettered in neat gilt across the front. It stood forth in four-foot

skeleton characters atop of the flat roof--an electric sign to burn like

a beacon by night. And he was about to become a part of that

establishment, a humble beginner, true, but a beginner with uncommon

prospects. He wondered if Henderson senior was right, if there resided

in him that elusive essence which leads some men to success in dealings

with other men. He was not sure about it himself. Still, the matter was

untried. Henderson might be right.

But it was all a fluke. It seemed to him he was getting an entirely

disproportionate reward for mauling an insolent chauffeur. That moved

him to wonder what became of Pebbles. He felt sorry for Pebbles. The man

had probably lost his job for good measure. Poor devil!

As he walked his thought short-circuited to Sophie Carr. Whereat he

turned into a drugstore containing a telephone booth and rang her up.

Sophie herself answered.

"I guess my saying good-by last night was a little premature," he told

her. "I'm not going north after all. In fact, if things go on all right

I may be in San Francisco indefinitely. I've got a job."

"What sort of a job?" Sophie inquired.

He hadn't told her about the ten o'clock appointment with Henderson. Nor

did he go into that now.

"I've been taken on in an automobile plant on Van Ness," he said. "A

streak of real luck. I'm to have a chance to learn the business. So I

won't see you in Vancouver. Remember me to Tommy. I suppose you'll be

busy getting ready to go, so I'll wish you a pleasant voyage."




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