"I'm half-way up, already!" said Max. Before the telephone receiver could descend on the holder, H. R. heard a voice impatiently shriek, "Down!" to an elevator-man two and one-half miles away. When Mr. Onthemaker, his face alight with eagerness to serve the cause of the poor sandwich-men free gratis, for nothing, could speak, H. R. told him, calmly: "Max, I am going to marry the only daughter of George G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank. Get photographs of her. Try La Touche and the other fashionable photographers. They will require an order from Miss Goodchild." "Written?" asked Mr. Onthemaker, anxiously. "I don't know." "I'll call up my office, and Miss Hirschbaum will give the order." "Can she talk like--" "Oh, she goes to the swell Gentile theaters," Max reassured him. "Don't say I'm engaged, and tell 'em not to bother the parents." He meant the reporters. Max thought of nothing else. "Leave it to me. Say, Hendrik--" "Mr. Rutgers!" The voice and the look made Max tremble and grow pale. "I was only joking," he apologized, weakly. He never repeated the offense. "I'll attend to it, Mr. Hendrik-- I mean Mr. Rutgers." "When Barrett comes in I'll send him down to you. Good day." When Andrew Barrett returned he said, impetuously, "I'm afraid I'll have to have some help, H. R." "I was going to tell you, my boy, that from to-morrow on you will have to go on salary." Barrett's smiles vanished. He shook his head. H. R. went on, in a kindly voice: "You've done very well and I'm much pleased with your work. But you mustn't be a hog." Barrett had made bushels of money by taking advantage of the opportunity to do so. The victorious idea was another's, the machinery was the society's, the work was done by the sandwiches. But Mr. Andrew Barrett was the salesman, the transmuter into cash. He was entitled to all he desired to make so long as he didn't raise prices. Injustice stared him in the face with smiles! Reducing his gain and smiling! H. R. would as lief get another man! Barrett forgot that he could get no business until H. R.'s astounding Valiquet's coup made the agent's job one of merely writing down names. He forgot it, but he did not forget his own successor. All he could say, in a boyishly obstinate way, was, "Well, I think--" "You mustn't think, and especially you must not think I'm an ass. You know very well that this is only the beginning of a very remarkable revolution in the advertising business. I need your services in installing the machinery and organizing the office, details that I leave to you because you have brains. Your salary will be a hundred a week and five per cent. on all new business. After I pass on to a still higher field I will make you a present of this business for you to have and to hold till death do you part. The Barrett Advertising Agency will be all yours. It will do a bigger business every year. And if you don't like it, you may leave this minute. You are young yet. Is it settled?"