it ain't so
fur off, neither!" But the capitalist was already out of hearing, gone
to find a man to take this orator's place.

By the end of the week, Adams felt that he had moved satisfactorily
forward in his preparations for the simple equipment he needed; but
he hated the pause of Sunday. He didn't WANT any rest, he told Alice
impatiently, when she suggested that the idle day might be good for him.

Late that afternoon he walked over to the apartment house where old
Charley Lohr lived, and gave his friend the letter he wanted the head
of Lamb and Company to receive "personally." "I'll take it as a mighty
great favour in you to hand it to him personally, Charley," he said, in
parting. "And you won't forget, in case he says anything about it--and
remember if you ever do get a chance to put in a good word for me later,
you know----"

Old Charley promised to remember, and, when Mrs. Lohr came out of the
"kitchenette," after the door closed, he said thoughtfully, "Just skin
and bones."

"You mean Mr. Adams is?" Mrs. Lohr inquired.

"Who'd you think I meant?" he returned. "One o' these partridges in the
wall-paper?"

"Did he look so badly?"

"Looked kind of distracted to me," her husband replied. "These little
thin fellers can stand a heap sometimes, though. He'll be over here
again Monday."

"Did he say he would?"

"No," said Lohr. "But he will. You'll see. He'll be over to find out
what the big boss says when I give him this letter. Expect I'd be kind
of anxious, myself, if I was him."

"Why would you? What's Mr. Adams doing to be so anxious about?"

Lohr's expression became one of reserve, the look of a man who has
found that when he speaks his inner thoughts his wife jumps too far to
conclusions. "Oh, nothing," he said. "Of course any man starting up a
new business is bound to be pretty nervous a while. He'll be over here
to-morrow evening, all right; you'll see."

The prediction was fulfilled: Adams arrived just after Mrs. Lohr had
removed the dinner dishes to her "kitchenette"; but Lohr had little
information to give his caller.

"He didn't say a word, Virgil; nary a word. I took it into his office
and handed it to him, and he just sat and read it; that's all. I kind of
stood around as long as I could, but he was sittin' at his desk with his
side to me, and he never turned around full toward me, as it were, so I
couldn't hardly even tell anything. All I know: he just read it."

"Well, but see here