he asked.

Peter nodded. "I was once employed in the reafforestation of a large
estate," he replied.

"Then I've found your job," said Sheldon heartily, clapping Peter on the
back. "A friend of Sheldon, Senior's, Jonathan K. McGuire, has a big
place down in the wilderness of Jersey--thousands of acres and he wants
a man to take charge--sort of forestry expert and general
superintendent, money no object. I reckon you could cop out three
hundred a month as a starter."

"That looks good to me," said Peter, delighted that the argot fell so
aptly from his lips. And then, "You're not spoofing, are you?"

"Devil a spoof. It's straight goods, Nichols. Will you take it?"

Peter had a vision of the greasy dishes he was to escape.

"Will I?" he exclaimed delightedly. "Can I get it?"

"Sure thing. McGuire is a millionaire, made a pot of money somewhere in
the West--dabbles in the market. That's where Dad met him. Crusty old
rascal. Daughter. Living down in Jersey now, alone with a lot of
servants. Queer one. Maybe you'll like him--maybe not."

Peter clasped his friend by the hands.

"Moloch himself would look an angel of mercy to me now."

"Do you think you can make good?"

"Well, rather. Whom shall I see? And when?"

"I can fix it up with Dad, I reckon. You'd better come down to the
office and see him about twelve."

Peter Sheldon, Senior, looked him over and asked him questions and the
interview was quite satisfactory.

"I'll tell you the truth, as far as I know it," said Sheldon, Senior
(which was more than Peter Nichols had done). "Jonathan K. McGuire is a
strange character--keeps his business to himself----. How much he's
worth nobody knows but himself and the Treasury Department. Does a good
deal of buying and selling through this office. A hard man in a deal but
reasonable in other things. I've had his acquaintance for five years,
lunched with him, dined with him--visited this place in Jersey, but I
give you my word, Mr. Nichols, I've never yet got the prick of a pin
beneath that man's skin. You may not like him. Few people do. But
there's no harm in taking a try at this job."

"I shall be delighted," said Nichols.

"I don't know whether you will or not," broke in Sheldon, Senior,
frankly. "Something's happened lately. About three weeks ago Jonathan K.
McGuire came into this office hurriedly, shut the door behind him,
locked it--and sank into a chair, puffing hard, his face the color of
putty. He wouldn'