Two days later Silverman walked unexpectedly into Plaisted's office. Plaisted, who had just that instant signed his name to a letter addressed to his visitor in New York, was rattled. "Mr. Plaisted," said Mr. Silverman, biting off the end of a three-for-a-dollar, "I have found out what is the trouble, that is, the main trouble with your agency here." Plaisted winced. He hadn't realized that there was any trouble, and certainly not any main trouble with his agency. "Yes, Mr. Silverman." "You're undermanned." "Why, yes--perhaps. I've thought of breaking in a few new agents this winter." "No," said Silverman, "I mean you're undermanned at the top. Weak on the executive side." "Oh," said Plaisted. "You need new blood, new ideas, new life, hustle," he snapped his fingers with each successive word--"speed--force--energy--vigor-- enterprise--vitality--dynamics--do you get me?" "I--yes--I'm sure I do," answered Plaisted, in considerable apprehension. "I suggest therefore that you appoint young Stevens--you have met him?" "Yes," answered Plaisted, who detested the ground Mason walked on, "I have met him." "I suggest you appoint him as your first assistant," remarked Mr. Silverman, calmly eyeing Plaisted. "He will take the burden of details off your shoulders." "I--ah--don't know, Mr. Silverman, if that would be entirely wise. You see our methods--his and mine--" "I have made my suggestion, Mr. Plaisted," answered Silverman slowly. "In my judgment that would be the best thing to do." The two men looked at each other until at last Plaisted dropped his eyes murmuring, "I will think it over." "I leave at two. I should like to know your decision before then." Plaisted yielded by telephone within half an hour. He wasn't deprived of the corner room; he would continue to sign _General Agent_ after his name. But he realized bitterly that he had left to him only the shadow of his long authority. The substance had passed to the young stranger. At the beginning of the following year Plaisted was granted a six months' leave of absence with pay, and soon after his return resigned. He now travels peevishly from Palm Beach to Paris and back again in company with a valet-nurse. Georgia's letter of farewell came in the afternoon mail, just after Mr. Silverman's departure. Mason read it over every night for a month and found it bad medicine for sleep. The lines in his shrewd face deepened perceptibly. Finally he locked the letter up in his safe deposit vault, and seemed to rest better afterwards. He dickered with the hotel for room and bath by the year and got thirty-three per cent off. He was known by his office force as a hard man to please. XXIII THE LAST OF THE OLD MAN