Of course, after the third blow Samuel put in several weeks at conscientious introspection. The blow years before at Andover had landed on his personal unpleasantness; the workman of his college days had jarred the snobbishness out of his system, and Marjorie's husband had given a severe jolt to his greedy selfishness. It threw women out of his ken until a year later, when he met his future wife; for the only sort of woman worth while seemed to be the one who could be protected as Marjorie's husband had protected her. Samuel could not imagine his grass-widow, Mrs. De Ferriac, causing any very righteous blows on her own account. His early thirties found him well on his feet. He was associated with old Peter Carhart, who was in those days a national figure. Carhart's physique was like a rough model for a statue of Hercules, and his record was just as solid--a pile made for the pure joy of it, without cheap extortion or shady scandal. He had been a great friend of Samuel's father, but he watched the son for six years before taking him into his own office. Heaven knows how many things he controlled at that time--mines, railroads, banks, whole cities. Samuel was very close to him, knew his likes and dislikes, his prejudices, weaknesses and many strengths. One day Carhart sent for Samuel and, closing the door of his inner office, offered him a chair and a cigar. "Everything O. K., Samuel?" he asked. "Why, yes." "I've been afraid you're getting a bit stale." "Stale?" Samuel was puzzled. "You've done no work outside the office for nearly ten years?" "But I've had vacations, in the Adiron---" Carhart waved this aside. "I mean outside work. Seeing the things move that we've always pulled the strings of here." "No," admitted Samuel; "I haven't." "So," he said abruptly "I'm going to give you an outside job that'll take about a month." Samuel didn't argue. He rather liked the idea and he made up his mind that, whatever it was, he would put it through just as Carhart wanted it. That was his employer's greatest hobby, and the men around him were as dumb under direct orders as infantry subalterns. "You'll go to San Antonio and see Hamil," continued Carhart. "He's got a job on hand and he wants a man to take charge." Hamil was in charge of the Carhart interests in the Southwest, a man who had grown up in the shadow of his employer, and with whom, though they had never met, Samuel had had much official correspondence. "When do I leave?" "You'd better go to-morrow," answered Carhart, glancing at the calendar. "That's the 1st of May. I'll expect your report here on the 1st of June."