Burned Bridges

Aren't you about due for a vacation? Why don't you take a run up

here? I'd enjoy a chin-fest. The fishing's good, too--and we are

long on rather striking scenery. Do come up for a week, when you

can get off. Meantime, by-by.

Tommy Thompson laid down the letter and stared out over the roof-tops. He

couldn't afford to be a philanthropist. A rather sweeping idea had

flashed into his mind as he read that missive. His horizon was

continually expanding. Money, beyond cavil, was the key to many doors, a

necessity if a man's eyes were fixed upon much that was desirable. If he

could make money selling machines for Groya Motors Inc., why not for

himself? Why not?

The answer seemed too obvious for argument. The new car which had taken

final form in Fred Henderson's drafting room and in the Groya shop was

long past the experimental stage. All it required was financing and John

P. Henderson had attended efficiently to that. There was a plant rising

swiftly across the bay, a modern plant with railway service, big yards,

and a testing track, in which six months hence would begin an estimated

annual production of ten thousand cars a year. John P. had remarked once

to his son that for the Henderson family to design, produce, manufacture

and market successfully a car they could be proud of would be the summit

of his ambition. And the new car was named the Summit.

It was a good car, a quality car in everything but sheer bulk. Thompson

knew that. He knew, too, that people were buying motor cars on

performance, not poundage, now. He knew too that he could sell

Summits--if he could get territory in which to make sales.

He had thought about this before. He knew that in the Groya files lay

dealers' contracts covering the cream of California, Oregon and

Washington. These dealers would handle Summits. There had not seemed an

opening wide enough to justify plans. But now Tommy's letter focused his

vision upon a specific point.

If he could get that Vancouver territory! Vancouver housed a hundred

thousand people. A Vancouver agency for the Summit, with a live man at

the helm, would run to big figures.

No, he decided, he would not hastily grasp his fountain pen and say to

Tommy Ashe, "Jump in and contract for territory and allotment, old boy.

The Summit is the goods." Not until he had looked over the ground

himself.

He had two weeks' vacation due when it pleased him. And it pleased him

to ask John P. as soon as he reached the office that very morning if it

was convenient to the firm to do without him for the ensuing fortnight.