"It's a good machine," said G. Selden, his flush a little deeper.

Mr. Vanderpoel smiled.

"You are a business-like young man," he said, "and I have no doubt you
have a catalogue in your pocket."

G. Selden was a business-like young man. He gave Mr. Vanderpoel one
serious look, and the catalogue was drawn forth.

"It wouldn't be business, sir, for me to be caught out without it," he
said. "I shouldn't leave it behind if I went to a funeral. A man's got
to run no risks."

"I should like to look at it."

The thing had happened. It was not a dream. Reuben S. Vanderpoel,
clothed and in his right mind, had, without pressure being exerted upon
him, expressed his desire to look at the catalogue--to examine it--to
have it explained to him at length.

He listened attentively, while G. Selden did his best. He asked a
question now and then, or made a comment. His manner was that of a
thoroughly composed man of business, but he was remembering what Betty
had told him of the "ten per," and a number of other things. He saw
the flush come and go under the still boyish skin, he observed that G.
Selden's hand was not wholly steady, though he was making an effort not
to seem excited. But he was excited. This actually meant--this thing so
unimportant to multi-millionaires--that he was having his "chance," and
his young fortunes were, perhaps, in the balance.

"Yes," said Reuben S., when he had finished, "it seems a good,
up-to-date machine."

"It's the best on the market," said G. Selden, "out and out, the best."

"I understand you are only junior salesman?"

"Yes, sir. Ten per and five dollars on every machine I sell. If I had a
territory, I should get ten."

"Then," reflectively, "the first thing is to get a territory."

"Perhaps I shall get one in time, if I keep at it," said Selden
courageously.

"It is a good machine. I like it," said Mr. Vanderpoel. "I can see a
good many places where it could be used. Perhaps, if you make it known
at your office that when you are given a good territory, I shall
give preference to the Delkoff over other typewriting machines, it
might--eh?"

A light broke out upon G. Selden's countenance--a light radiant and
magnificent. He caught his breath. A desire to shout--to yell--to whoop,
as when in the society of "the boys," was barely conquered in time.

"Mr. Vanderpoel," he said, standing up, "I--Mr. Vanderpoel--sir--I feel
as if I was having a pipe dream. I'm not, am I?"

"No," ans