inds prices shot to glory and business done for fun."

Unable to maintain his composure in the face of such levity during
office hours, Mr. Skinner withdrew, still wrapped in his sub-Antarctic
dignity. As the door closed behind him, Mr. Peck's eyebrows went up in a
manner indicative of apprehension.

"I'm off to a bad start, Mr. Ricks," he opined.

"You only asked for a start," Cappy piped back at him. "I didn't
guarantee you a _good_ start, and I wouldn't because I can't. I can only
drive Skinner and Matt Peasley so far--and no farther. There's always a
point at which I quit--er--ah--William."

"More familiarly known as Bill Peck, sir."

"Very well, Bill." Cappy slid out to the edge of his chair and peered at
Bill Peck balefully over the top of his spectacles. "I'll have my eye on
you, young feller," he shrilled. "I freely acknowledge our indebtedness
to you, but the day you get the notion in your head that this office is
an old soldiers' home--" He paused thoughtfully. "I wonder what Skinner
_will_ pay you?" he mused. "Oh, well," he continued, whatever it is,
take it and say nothing and when the moment is propitious--and provided
you've earned it--I'll intercede with the danged old relic and get you a
raise."

"Thank you very much, sir. You are most kind. Good-day, sir."

And Bill Peck picked up his hat and limped out of The Presence. Scarcely
had the door closed behind him than Mr. Skinner re-entered Cappy Ricks'
lair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cappy silenced him with an
imperious finger.

"Not a peep out of you, Skinner, my dear boy," he chirped amiably. "I
know exactly what you're going to say and I admit your right to say it,
but--as--ahem! Harumph-h-h!--now, Skinner, listen to reason. How the
devil could you have the heart to reject that crippled ex-soldier? There
he stood, on one sound leg, with his sleeve tucked into his coat pocket
and on his homely face the grin of an unwhipped, unbeatable man. But
you--blast your cold, unfeeling soul, Skinner!--looked him in the eye
and turned him down like a drunkard turns down near-beer. Skinner, how
_could_ you do it?"

Undaunted by Cappy's admonitory finger, Mr. Skinner struck a distinctly
defiant attitude.

"There is no sentiment in business," he replied angrily. "A week ago
last Thursday the local posts of the American Legion commenced their
organized drive for jobs for their crippled and unemployed comrades, and
within three days you've sawed off t