ded some good orders?"

"Some! A lot, all over the place. I tell you, we've done the trick at
last; you can accept it for an absolute fact that our American market
is established."

The gaunt face on the pillow glowed with triumph. Sir Charles would
have hated to admit in words just how great was the satisfaction given
him by this news, but his expression betrayed the truth. In his secret
heart he had sometimes felt that the principal thing he lived for now
was the firm establishment of a market in the United States for the
output of Seabrook & Clifford. Until now the buyers across the
Atlantic had shown little interest in their well-known materials,
although salesman after salesman had been sent out, and money sunk in
advertising to an extent that made him shudder to contemplate.
Bitterly he had begun to fear that the wish of his heart would never be
realised in his lifetime, yet now, behold! It had come about, and
through the agency and judgment of his son. He felt a burning desire
to know all details.

"What about those new patterns you took out with you?" he inquired,
with an effort to appear casual.

Roger stared at him in astonishment, then laughed.

"Why, of course, it was the new patterns that did it! The old stuff
was out of date, no one would look at it. Didn't I always say so? If
there's any place in the world that wants modern ideas, it is America.
And let me tell you something else: before you know where you are, the
colonies are going to wake up and want them too!"

His father gulped. It may have been that he was swallowing his pride.
Still, he managed to nod, as if this were what he'd been expecting.

"Henry Seabrook will hate to admit he's been wrong all these years,"
was his game comment. "You recollect how he raved and carried on when
you showed him those futurist designs?"

"Do I not? You'd have thought there was something positively immoral
in them, evil enough to rot the very yarns!"

He refrained from alluding to the fact that his father had displayed an
almost equal distaste and scepticism. Let old Seabrook shoulder the
blame!

"As soon as you've pulled out of this, I'll go over the whole thing
with you and show you the figures. For the moment, though, I don't
want to tax your strength."

"I suppose you're right," admitted his father with a sigh. "I'm
getting on pretty well, I believe, but the slightest effort does me up.
This wretched fever leaves me as limp as a rag