e was wearing a
linen smock over his clothes and paper protectors over his cuffs.

"I don't think you're quite yourself this morning, Pratt," he observed
acidly.

"I am not," Jacob answered. "I have had good news."

Mr. Smith was a farseeing man, with a brain which worked quickly. He
remembered in a moment the cause of Jacob's failure. Oil might be
found at any time!

"I am very glad to hear it, Pratt," he said. "Would you like to come
into the office and have a little chat?"

Jacob looked his employer squarely in the face.

"Never so long as I live," he replied. "Just the few words I want to
say to you, Mr. Smith, can be said here. You gave me a job when I was
down and out. You gave it to me not out of pity but because you knew I
was a damned good traveller. I've trudged the streets for you, ridden
in tram-cars, 'buses and tubes, sold your leather honestly and
carefully for two years. I've doubled your turnover; I've introduced
you to the soundest connection you ever had on your books. Each
Christmas a clerk in the counting house has handed me an extra
sovereign--to buy sweets with, I suppose! You've never raised my
salary, you've never uttered a word of thanks. I've brought you in
three of the biggest contracts you ever had in your life, and you
accepted them with grudging satisfaction, pretended they didn't pay
you, forgot that I knew what you gave for every ton of your leather
that passed through my hands. You've been a cold, calculating and
selfish employer. You'll never be a rich man because you haven't the
imagination, and you'll never be a poor one because you're too stingy.
And now you can go on with your rotten little business and find
another traveller, for I've finished with you."

"You can't leave without a week's notice," Mr. Smith snapped.

"Sue me, then," Jacob retorted, as he turned away. "Put me in the
County Court. I shall have the best part of a million to pay the
damage with. Good morning to you, Mr. Smith, and I thank Providence
that never again in this life have I got to cross the threshold of
your warehouse!"

Jacob passed out into the street, whistling lightly. He was beginning
to feel himself.

Half an hour later, seated in the most comfortable easy chair of Mr.
Pedlar's private office, a sanctum into which he had never before been
asked to penetrate, Jacob discussed the flavour of a fine Havana cigar
and issued his instructions for the payment of his debts in full. Mr.
Stephen Pe