Burned Bridges

He could detect no change in her. That was one of the queer, personal

characteristics she possessed--that she could pass beyond his ken for

months, for years he almost believed, and when he met her again she

would be the same, voice, manner, little tricks of speech and gesture

unchanged. Meeting Sophie after that year was like meeting her after a

week. Barring the clothes and the surroundings that spoke of ample means

tastefully expended, the general background of her home and associates,

she seemed to him unchanged. Yet when he reflected, he was not so sure

of this. Sophie was gracious, friendly, frankly interested when he

talked of himself. When their talk ran upon impersonal things the old

nimbleness of mind functioned. But under these superficialities he could

only guess, after all, what the essential woman of her was now. He could

not say if she were still the queer, self-disciplined mixture of cold

logic and primitive passion the Sophie Carr of Lone Moose had revealed

to him. He was not sure if he desired to explore in that direction. The

old scars remained. He shrank from acquiring new ones, yet perforce let

his thought dwell upon her with reviving concentration. After all, he

said to himself, it was on the knees of the gods.

At any rate he was not to be deterred from his project. He had served

his apprenticeship in the game. He was eager to try his own wings in a

flight of his own choosing.

Since he had evolved a definite plan of going about that, he entered

decisively upon the first step. Upon reaching San Francisco he bearded

John P. Henderson in his mahogany den and outlined a scheme which made

that worthy gentleman's eyes widen. He heard Thompson to an end,

however, with a growing twinkle in those same, shrewd, worldly-wise

orbs, and at the finish thumped a plump fist on his desk with a force

that made the pen-rack jingle.

"Damned if I don't go you," he exclaimed. "I said in the beginning you'd

make a salesman, and you've made good. You'll make good in this. If you

don't it isn't for lack of vision--and nerve."

"Nerve," he chuckled over the word. "You know it isn't good business for

me. I'll be losing a valuable man off my staff, and I'll be taking

longer chances than it has ever been my policy to take. Your only real

asset is--yourself. That isn't a negotiable security."

"Not exactly," Thompson returned. "Still in your business you are

compelled--every big business is compelled--to place implicit trust in

certain men. From a commercial point of view this move of mine should

prove even more profitable to you than if I remain on your staff as a

salesman--provided your estimate of me, and my own estimate of myself,

is approximately correct. You must have an outlet for your product. I

will still be making money for you. In addition I shall be developing a

market that will, perhaps before so very long, absorb a tremendous

number of cars."