ked into my office.

"Perkins," I said, as soon as he had arranged his feet comfortably on my
desk, "I'm tired. I'm restless. I have been wishing for you for a month.
I want to go into a big scheme and make a lot of new, up-to-date cash.
I'm sick of this tame, old cash that I have. It isn't interesting. No
cash is interesting except the coming cash."

"I'm with you," said Perkins, "what is your scheme?"

"I have none," I said sadly, "that is just my trouble. I have sat here
for days trying to think of a good practical scheme, but I can't. I
don't believe there is an unworked scheme in the whole wide, wide
world."

Perkins waved his hand.

"My boy," he exclaimed, "there are millions! You've thousands of 'em
right here in your office! You're falling over them, sitting on them,
walking on them! Schemes? Everything is a scheme. Everything has money
in it!"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Yes," I said, "for you. But you are a genius."

"Genius, yes," Perkins said smiling cheerfully, "else why Perkins the
Great? Why Perkins the originator? Why the Great and Only Perkins of
Portland?"

"All right," I said, "what I want is for your genius to get busy. I'll
give you a week to work up a good scheme."

Perkins pushed back his hat and brought his feet to the floor with a
smack.

"Why the delay?" he queried, "time is money. Hand me something from your
desk."

I looked in my pigeonholes and pulled from one a small ball of string.
Perkins took it in his hand and looked at it with great admiration.

"What is it?" he asked seriously.

"That," I said humoring him, for I knew something great would be evolved
from his wonderful brain, "is a ball of red twine I bought at the
ten-cent store. I bought it last Saturday. It was sold to me by a
freckled young lady in a white shirtwaist. I paid--"

"Stop!" Perkins cried, "what is it?"

I looked at the ball of twine curiously. I tried to see something
remarkable in it. I couldn't. It remained a simple ball of red twine and
I told Perkins so.

"The difference," declared Perkins, "between mediocrity and genius!
Mediocrity always sees red twine; genius sees a ball of Crimson Cord!"

He leaned back in his chair and looked at me triumphantly. He folded his
arms as if he had settled the matter. His attitude seemed to say that he
had made a fortune for us. Suddenly he reached forward, and grasping my
scissors, began snipping off small lengths of the twine.

"The Crimson Cord!" he ej