me they've gone it has been clear as daylight
why they went. Farnsworth is square. He hasn't much heart in him, but
he's square. And he has eyes in the back of his head."

She raised her own eyes and looked swiftly about the room as if she
half-expected to discover him here.

"What's the matter?" he inquired.

She did not answer his question, but as she ran on again she lowered
her voice:--

"You've been in his office to-day?"

"He gave me some more circulars," Don admitted.

"Then you'd better believe he knew you didn't get to bed last night
until 4 a.m. And you'd better believe he has tucked that away in his
mind somewhere."

Don appeared worried.

"He didn't say anything."

"No, he didn't say anything. He doesn't say anything until he has a
whole collection of those little things. Even then he doesn't say
much; but what he does say--counts."

"You don't think he's getting ready to fire me?" he asked anxiously.

"He's always getting ready," she answered. "He's always getting ready
to fire or advance you. That's the point," she went on more earnestly.
"What I don't understand is why the men who come in here aren't
getting ready too. I don't see why they don't play the game. I might
stay with the firm twenty years and I'd still be pounding a
typewriter. But you--"

She raised her eyes to his. She saw that Don's had grown less dull,
and her own warmed with this initial success.

"You used to play football, didn't you?" she asked.

"A little."

"Then you ought to know something about doing things hard; and you
ought to know something about keeping in training."

"But look here, it seems to me you take this mighty seriously."

"Farnsworth does," she corrected. "That's why he's getting ten
thousand a year."

The figures recalled a vivid episode.

"Ten thousand a year," he repeated after her. "Is that what he
draws?"

"That's what they say. Anyway, he's worth it."

"And you think I--I might make a job like that?"

"I'll bet I'd try for it if I were in your boots," she answered
earnestly.

"I'll bet you'd land it if you were in my boots." He raised his
coffee-cup. "Here's to the ten thousand a year," he drank.

Miss Winthrop rose. She had talked more than she intended, and was
somewhat irritated at herself. If, for a second, she thought she had
accomplished something, she did not think so now, as he too rose and
smiled at her. He handed her the pasteboard box.

"Your two dollars is in there,