"I expect you'll meet up with a good deal of that kind of thing, Bliss," he says, glancing up from his newspaper and glancing down again. "Everybody sends 'em to my uncle. He--makes it a point to know of things. He's a regular employment agency, d'y'see, for the jobless friends of his friends. I--er--shouldn't let it bother me." The big gray man was real nice and regretful. "I'm genuinely sorry," he said. "I really am. I happen to know Ember a little--I'd be glad to oblige him. But this--we don't need a thing here. I'm sorry Mr. Carney is away. It's unfortunate, but he _is_ away, for some months." He said a few more things polite, and he took down my name and address and said if anything _should_ turn up.... And I happened to think of something. If we had to wait very long, it might bother some about the rent. "You don't think it would be very long, do you?" I says. "On account of Mis' Bingy and my rent." "I wish I could promise something more," says the big gray man, looking back on his desk papers. "I'm sorry. Good morning." I didn't think till afterward that he'd never even troubled to ask me what I could do. Then the little young man that had been setting loose in his chair, sat up loose, and spoke loose, too. "I say," he said, "if she's a friend of Ember's, I might give her a card to the factory." "I shouldn't trouble if I were you, Arthur," says the big gray man, sharp; which I didn't think was very nice of him. But the little young man, tipping his cigar so's the smoke would keep out of his eyes, and squinting back from it, took out a card and scrawled on it and tossed it across the table toward me. "You might try that," he says. And shook himself, loose again, and strolled out the door. He walked loose, too. I thanked him and put the card away, and went down in the elevator. It was the same elevator, it turned out, that the little young man had taken, but of course he didn't notice me. When I got down I asked the man at the door how to get to the address of the factory that was written on the card. He said it was about two miles, and told me with his thumb which way. While I was trying to make out which way he meant, I stood for a minute in the street doorway. And there was the little young man again. "Do you know how to get to the factory?" he asked. "Yes. On my two feet," I says back, and started. "You don't mean to say you're going to walk all that way?" he says, following me a step or two. "No," I says, "I don't mean to say it, as I know of." "Look here," he says, "my car is here at the side door. I'm on my way over to the factory now. Can't I give you a lift?" I thought for a minute. I was awful tired. If I walked all that way and then home, I'd have to spend ten cents for lunch that would be enough for Mis' Bingy and me both at night. The little young man was a friend of Mr. Carney's, that was a friend of Mr. Ember's.... "We'll be there in ten minutes," he says. "Much obliged," I says, and went with him.