nspire you to stick to the White Line and make
good."

"Nope, I'm going to make one more change. Gee! I can't go on working for
you. The problem of any man working for a woman boss is hard enough.
He's always wanting to give her advice and be superior, and yet he has
to take her orders. And it's twice as hard when it's me working for you
that I remember as a kid--even though you have climbed past me."

"Well?"

"Well, I'm going to work for you till I have a job where I can make
good, and when I do--or if I do--I'm going to ask you to marry me."

"But, my dear boy, I'm a business woman. I'm making good right now. In
three months I've boosted White Line receipts seventeen per cent., and
I'm not going back to minding the cat and the gas-stove and waiting--"

"You don't need to. We can both work, keep our jobs, and have a real
housekeeper--a crackajack maid at forty a month--to mind the cat."

"But you seem to forget that I'm more or less married already."

"So do you!... If I make good-- Listen: I guess it's time now to tell you
my secret. I'm breaking into your old game, real estate. You know I've
been turning out pretty good publicity for the White Line, besides all
the traveling and inspecting, and we have managed to have a few good
times, haven't we? But, also, on the side, I've been doing a whale of a
lot of advertising, and so on, for the Nassau County Investment Company,
and they've offered me a steady job at forty-five a week. And now that
I've got you to work for, my _Wanderjahre_ are over. So, if I do make
good, will you divorce that incubus of an Eddie Schwirtz and marry me?
Will you?"

He perched on the arm of her chair, and again demanded: "Will you?
You've got plenty legal grounds for divorcing him--and you haven't any
ethical grounds for not doing it."

She said nothing. Her head drooped. She, who had blandly been his
manager all day, felt managed when his "Will you?" pierced her, made her
a woman.

He put his forefinger under her chin and lifted it. She was conscious of
his restless, demanding eyes.

"Oh, I must think it over," she begged.

"Then you will!" he triumphed. "Oh, my soul, we've bucked the
world--you've won, and I will win. Mr. and Mrs. Babson will be
won'erfully happy. They'll be a terribly modern couple, both on the job,
with a bungalow and a Ford and two Persian cats and a library of Wells,
and Compton Mackenzie, and Anatole France. And everybody will think
they're exceptional,