She was a plain girl with freckles on her nose; she carried a lunch basket and her gloves were white about the seams, but as the young man whispered something in her ear even Mr. Clatfield thought that he had never seen a more attractive smile. When a blue car came along the young man helped her carefully to mount the step, and in shaking hands they laughed and made a little secret of the act. As the car went on its way the young man ran for cover to the awning beneath which stood the banker and the cashier. "Good-evening, sir," said Mr. Wattles. "I have seen you often at the bank." "Oh, yes, indeed," replied the other, highly gratified to be recognized by one so great as Mr. Wattles. "I am there every day for my employers, Pullman & Pushings." "An excellent firm," commented Mr. Wattles. "I understand they pay their people handsomely." "Oh, as to that," responded the other, laughing, "it's rather handsome to pay at all in times like these." "That's true," assented Mr. Wattles. "Times are dull, and more than likely to get worse." "Oh, do you think so, really?" the young man asked rather wistfully. "Sure of it," answered the cashier, "and if you've any thought of asking for a raise of salary, I should advise you not to do so." "I'm very much obliged for the advice," rejoined the other, "because I have been thinking----" "Ahem!" coughed Mr. Wattles, interrupting. "I want to introduce you to our president, Mr. Clatfield." The junior clerk took off his hat and put it on again the right way by mistake. In his confusion he had not observed that Hiram Clatfield looked frigidly above his head; he only heard the cashier's voice continuing like enchanted music: "Mr. Clatfield has for some time been looking for a private secretary. The salary would be commensurate with the responsibility from the first, and should you prove the right man--but of course we would make no promises. Do you think you would be disposed to consider such an opening?" "Would I?" gasped the junior clerk. "And, by the way, you are not married, are you?" "No," said the young man, "I'm not, but----" "That's good," continued the cashier. "That's very fortunate, for Mr. Clatfield prefers that his confidential secretaries should be single men. In fact, he makes that an absolute condition." "The deuce he does!" replied the junior clerk. "Then he can give the place to anyone but me. There comes my yellow car. Good-night, and much obliged." "Wattles," cried Mr. Clatfield, "have you gone crazy? I do not want a private secretary on any terms!" "No," answered Mr. Wattles, "I suppose not." The lighted trolley cars went shooting past. The wind had risen till the big umbrella of the transfer agent threatened to go sailing skyward like a yellow parachute. Already at the corners the ground was getting white. A muffled clock somewhere struck seven. "Wattles," said Mr. Clatfield, "come home and dine with me. I'd like to talk about our walk."