It looked very big and raw and uninviting to him. There was nothing homey about it at all. It didn’t even look interesting, and Jim stood under a tree and wished his father had chosen some other calling than the manufacture of clothespins. He mopped his head and wrinkled his nose, and grew very gloomy at the thought that down there on that unspeakable flat lay the work of his future years. His dreams had been of something very different. He shrugged his shoulders and walked rapidly down on to his property, acting very much like a man with a tender tooth on his way to the dentist’s. As he walked along the side of the biggest building he encountered a small Italian boy with a big pail of water. “Son,” he said, “where’s the office? Where’s the boss?” The big black eyes lighted; white teeth gleamed. “You lika drink? Sure. I take you da office.” Jim drank and followed the boy, whose bare feet seemed miraculously to take no harm from the rubbish he walked over. “Me Pete.” he said, pointing to himself. “Me carry da drink.” Then he pointed to a small frame shack. “Dat da office,” he said. Jim walked through the half-open door. Nobody was there. On a drafting-table were drawings and blue-prints; a roll-top desk was littered with papers and letters. Jim sat down in a revolving-chair to wait for the return of Mr. Wattrous, the engineer in charge of construction. It was very hot and stuffy, so he removed hat and coat and made himself at home. A man with a red face, a wilted collar, and a leather document case entered presently. “Afternoon,” he said, sinking into a chair and mopping his face. “White’s my name. Fire-proof paint. Jenkins was sick, so I came up, but I guess you and me can fix things as well as him, eh?” Before Jim could reply the individual continued: “Now we can’t afford to pay you any fifteen per cent. commission out of our own pockets. ’Tain’t right we should. But here’s what we will do: We’ll stand seven and a half and we’ll just add seven and a half to the face of the invoices. See? You’ll get your fifteen all right and we won’t get stung for but half of it. Neat scheme and fair to all sides, eh?” “Does sound neat,” Jim said, “but not economical.” Mr. White laughed, as at a witticism. “You poor engineers has got to live,” he said. “True. Just out of curiosity, what price would you be making us if there weren’t any commissions to pay?” “Umm, well—I guess we could figure twenty per cent. off what it’s going to cost you.” Jim said nothing, but scratched his head. He wondered if Wattrous had added twenty per cent. to costs all the way through. If so he had not been a profitable investment. “You’ll O. K. the invoices?” “I guess likely I will—hereafter,” said Jim, and turned to observe a heavy-set man in corduroys and laced boots who entered with a roll of drawings in his hands. This person looked inquiringly from Jim to White. “Make yourselves at home,” he said, ironically.