“Mostly whitewash inside,” says the boss. “Then,” says Catty, “why hain’t it good business for both of us if I was to give you a figger on doin’ all the work by the year? Doin’ all the paintin’ and whitewashin’ necessary, and takin’ all that worry off of your hands.” “Young man,” says the man with the clothes, “you have ideas. You see where you’re going, and I’m going to make a bet that you get there. That is a business-like proposition. You make a proposition along that line.” “Thankee, sir. Good mornin’. I’ll have that bid in so quick you’ll be s’prised.” We hustled back, and Catty got his father to hire a rig and drive right out to the stock-farm. Mr. Atkins spent all the rest of the day there, and Catty spent the rest of the day there sort of moving his father along from one thing to another and seeing to it he didn’t lie down in any shady spots or take any strolls back into the woods. Mr. Atkins made heaps of measurements, and talked a lot to the boss, and when he got to talking business and got really interested he acted like he was another man. He spoke kind of sharp and brisk, and he give you the idea that he knew what he was about. It was funny the way he was changing. You couldn’t notice it much every day, but if you looked at him as he was now and like he was when he first came to town, you wouldn’t believe what you saw. [Illustration: That night he and Jack Phillips sat up late going over figures, and early the next morning they had things ready to show to the stock-farm company] That night he and Jack Phillips sat up late going over figures, and early the next morning they had things ready to show to the stock-farm company. “Catty ought to take the figures out,” says Jack. “He landed the job.” Mr. Atkins looked at Catty and heaved a big breath. “He done so,” says he, and his eyes sort of twinkled. “Catty’s a terror. He’s a-ruinin’ my life. Fust I know he’ll make a rich man out of me, and I’ll have to buy me one of them silk hats like he was talking about, and nobody knows but what I’ll have to git me a cane to wear Sundays.” “Catty,” says Jack, “is the best man in this firm.” Well, we walked out to the farm and showed those men the figures, and Catty had listened so he was able to explain anything they didn’t understand. The upshot of it was that the boss signed the contract Jack had written, and Atkins & Phillips had landed the job of doing all the painting for the Greenfields Holstein Farms for a year. It was a whaling big contract, too. Catty figured they would make a fair living out of it, even if they didn’t get another stroke of work to do. “We’re growin’,” says he. “Now we got to save out money so as to git a lot ahead to branch out with. What we need most right now is money.” “It’s what most folks needs,” says I. “I need a little myself. ’Most always do.”