He entered the lobby of the office building and studied it. On one side were the elevators. Behind them a broad marble stairway started upward, turning behind the cages, to the floor above. The lobby was not large, but it was large enough for the purpose Joe had in mind, and presently, when the occupants of one elevator had pushed out through the revolving doors, he stepped off the little space between the first elevator and the front wall of the building. A little less than three yards he made it. The depth was five feet. Joe half closed his eyes and studied it. Then, jostled by another carful of departing occupants, he made his way across to the directory beside the elevators. It was evident that many of the offices, and Joe decided that there must be some two hundred of them, were still unoccupied, although the building was now complete as to its interior. A placard near at hand notified the public that offices were to be rented of Joseph Adams, Room 129. At that moment an elevator descended and emptied itself, and the operator, observing Joe at the directory, asked who he was looking for. “Strobe,” replied Joe, giving the first name that came to his mind. “Not here. Maybe he’s coming later. If you mean John P. Strobe, his place is across the street there, on the opposite corner. Jeweler, is he?” Joe said he was and thanked the youth for the direction. Then, looking about him at the unsurfaced walls: “This is a pretty good building,” he observed. The other nodded. “Best in this town, anyway. It wouldn’t cut much ice in Cincinnati, I guess, but it’s pretty good for Amesville.” “Are there many in it?” “Sure, and it’s filling up fast. The old man’s renting two or three offices a day, I hear.” “I suppose there’ll be a news-stand here, won’t there?” “News-stand? Search me! I haven’t heard of any.” “I should think you’d need one. You must have two or three hundred people in here.” “Easy! There’s two hundred and eight offices, and some has two or three people in ’em. Course, they ain’t all rented yet, but――――” The signal buzzed and the operator slammed the door and shot out of sight just as another car arrived. Joe made his way out with the throng and hurried homeward, his mind very busy all the way. At supper he was so preoccupied and silent that Aunt Sarah tried to get him to describe his symptoms and watched him depart for Jack’s house with misgivings. Up in the big room on the third floor Joe laid the scheme before his chum. Jack was instantly enthusiastic. “It’s simply great!” he declared. “How’d you ever think of it? But you’d sell other things besides newspapers, wouldn’t you, Joey?” “Yes. Cigars, candy, magazines――anything I could. You see, Jack, if folks who work in the building know they can get such things right there they’re pretty sure to deal with me. I ought to sell a lot of cigars――――” “And chewing-gum,” laughed Jack.