Men always do what they are expected to do. The eight non-successfuls went out. It was only when they were outside, where the female was typewriting away, that they began to talk loudly. H. R. had judged rightly. They were not first-class men. He turned to the others and asked: "Can you _sell_ advertising?" Young Mr. Barrett came forward. The four answered, "Yes!" "Then you can sell anything!" He stood up suddenly, when they were not expecting such a thing. This is always subtly disconcerting. Business men and beautiful women invariably resent it. He asked, sharply, "What is the one thing none of you can sell to me?" He looked challengingly at the first. The man stared back at H. R. and, with the canvasser's professional look of congratulation, replied, "A gold brick!" "Good answer! Not _the_ answer. And you?" he asked the second man. "Newspaper space--not to you." "Still better answer. But not the answer." He looked at the third man, who promptly said: "Opinions!" "Excellent. But not the answer. And you, young man?" The accusation of youth is never successfully repulsed. Young Mr. Barrett, ingeniously admitting his youth to remove the sting from his humor, replied triumphantly, "Smallpox!" "The tendency of American youth is toward the clown. It keeps us in an attitude of perennial apology toward the perennial juvenility of our nation. What none of you can sell me is--" He paused. They were looking at him with the intentness with which all men look at an armed lunatic--or at their master. After the second minute of suspense they exclaimed in chorus: "What?" They couldn't help it! "Cold feet!" said H. R. calmly. They looked relieved. Then they looked anxious. The reason the ruled masses never win is because they inflict upon themselves their own doubts. "How many times your own salary do you wish to earn for me?" asked H. R. in the tone of voice in which a philanthropist asks strangers for subscriptions to his pet charity. This always makes people feel that extravagance is a sin. "I'd expect to earn for you--" began one of the victims. "Not what you would _expect_, but what you would _like_," corrected H. R. He spoke so kindly that they at once knew it was a trap. A look of brotherhood always is, to all clever men of an editorial type of mind. "Four or five times," answered No. 1. "And you?" "I don't want to work for you at all," answered No. 2, feeling that his answer was sure not to be right. "Good morning," said H. R. in such a voice and with such a look that No. 2 instantly ceased to exist. When he walked out he didn't hear his own footsteps. "And you?" "It depends," answered No. 3 in the earnest voice of a man trying to be fair at all costs, "upon what the work will be." "I sha'n't need you. Please don't ask me questions. Good day, sir." "I have a right--" "None whatever. It would be cruelty if I told you."