At the end of a month he stood in line and received forty dollars. He pawned a cigarette-case and a pair of field-glasses and managed to live--to eat, sleep, and smoke. It was, however, a narrow scrape; as the ways and means of economy were a closed book to him and the second month brought no increase, he voiced his alarm. "If you've got a drag with old Macy, maybe he'll raise you," was Charley's disheartening reply. "But he didn't raise ME till I'd been here nearly two years." "I've got to live," said Dalyrimple simply. "I could get more pay as a laborer on the railroad but, Golly, I want to feel I'm where there's a chance to get ahead." Charles shook his head sceptically and Mr. Macy's answer next day was equally unsatisfactory. Dalyrimple had gone to the office just before closing time. "Mr. Macy, I'd like to speak to you." "Why--yes." The unhumorous smile appeared. The voice was faintly resentful. "I want to speak to you in regard to more salary." Mr. Macy nodded. "Well," he said doubtfully, "I don't know exactly what you're doing. I'll speak to Mr. Hanson." He knew exactly what Dalyrimple was doing, and Dalyrimple knew he knew. "I'm in the stock-room--and, sir, while I'm here I'd like to ask you how much longer I'll have to stay there." "Why--I'm not sure exactly. Of course it takes some time to learn the stock." "You told me two months when I started." "Yes. Well, I'll speak to Mr. Hanson." Dalyrimple paused irresolute. "Thank you, sir." Two days later he again appeared in the office with the result of a count that had been asked for by Mr. Hesse, the bookkeeper. Mr. Hesse was engaged and Dalyrimple, waiting, began idly fingering in a ledger on the stenographer's desk. Half unconsciously he turned a page--he caught sight of his name --it was a salary list: Dalyrimple Demming Donahoe Everett His eyes stopped-- Everett.........................$60 So Tom Everett, Macy's weak-chinned nephew, had started at sixty --and in three weeks he had been out of the packing-room and into the office. So that was it! He was to sit and see man after man pushed over him: sons, cousins, sons of friends, irrespective of their capabilities, while HE was cast for a pawn, with "going on the road" dangled before his eyes--put off with the stock remark: "I'll see; I'll look into it." At forty, perhaps, he would be a bookkeeper like old Hesse, tired, listless Hesse with a dull routine for his stint and a dull background of boarding-house conversation. This was a moment when a genii should have pressed into his hand the book for disillusioned young men. But the book has not been written. A great protest swelling into revolt surged up in him. Ideas half forgotten, chaoticly perceived and assimilated, filled his mind. Get on--that was the rule of life--and that was all. How he did it, didn't matter--but to be Hesse or Charley Moore. "I won't!" he cried aloud.