“Only the general situation. Everything depends on Jack’s being a man. Just now I can’t help him much; and Jack--you understand--is likely to go in the direction of the person who is nearest him.” “I’ll do what I can,” said Clifford. Then, for the first time since his entrance, she showed emotion. Impulsively she thrust out her hand and clasped his. “Thank you!” she said. CHAPTER XX CLIFFORD’S NEW ASSIGNMENT When Clifford left her, though still amazed at the task she had set him, he was more occupied with a new possibility--Life worked so strangely!--that had come upon him during their talk. Had Mary, through her scheming to achieve worldly place and fortune by means of Jack, come by slow degrees and perhaps unknown to herself to have a real responsibility toward Jack? And if so, how would she react under that responsibility if ever a crisis should arise? At once Clifford began work upon this strange assignment. And at once this assignment, strange as it was to start with, took on an even stranger twist--though this new turn was not at once definitely apparent. Clifford was curious concerning Jack in his new rôle as a business man; and half an hour after leaving Mary he was shown into an office in a large suite down in the financial district. Jack sprung up eagerly from a littered desk. “Hello, Bob! Say, this is great, your dropping in on me like this--a regular relief expedition to a strayed North-Pole-hunting outfit! Only, as a financier, I’m no Commodore Peary; I’m in the Dr. Cook class.” Clifford returned the smile of the pleasant, almost boyish face. “How goes the work, Jack?” The young fellow made a grimace at the papers on his desk. “They’ve turned over a one-cylinder mining proposition to me to handle. Oh, ye gods! Bob--has science yet discovered an anti-toxin for work?” “Then you’re getting tired of it?” Clifford asked, studying him keenly. “Tired, you bet!--and also tangled. But I’m going to stick it out.” He lowered his voice: “You know, it’s all Mary’s doing, my starting to toil in this old foundry. She said I had to make good--and you can just bet I am going to make good!” Clifford nodded. “It’s great stuff; hang on with all your teeth. But you can’t be on the job all the time. Suppose we have dinner together this evening and then see a show?” “Sorry, Bob, but I’m dated up with dad to-night. If you’ll make it to-morrow evening, though, you’re on.” “All right. Say we meet at seven in the Gold Room at the Grantham.” It was so agreed. Clifford left Jack with one dominant impression: at least this phase of Mary’s scheme was visibly succeeding--Jack, whom no one had ever been able to get to go to work before, seemed tightly anchored to his job.