“Much obliged,” said Jim, feeling now for the first time a real interest in life. Indeed, he felt a sort of humorous interest. The situation was not without its ludicrous appeal. “Mr. Wattrous,” he said, “allow me to present Mr. White. Mr. White sells fire-proof paint.” Wattrous scowled, seemed a bit perplexed. As for White, his jaw dropped and he stared at Jim and then at Wattrous with the expression of a man who has been violently struck in the wind. “Yes,” said Jim, “Mr. White is generous. The way he hands out commissions would astonish you. Why, he’s going to give you fifteen per cent. just for buying paint from him.” Wattrous thrust out his jaw. “Who the devil are you?” he said. “Ashe,” said Jim; “James Ashe. I’m the fellow that owns this mill.” Mr. White made an unsuccessful attempt to rise, but fell back under Wattrous’s furious glance; he tried again, more successfully, and scuttled out of the office at a speed that threatened further to wreck his already lamentably wilted collar. Jim turned sharply to Wattrous. He felt unlike himself; felt the urge of a will he had not before experienced; felt a sense of confidence; felt, indeed, a desire to do something and to do it without delay. “You, Wattrous—of course you’re fired.” His voice hardened, became peremptory without his volition. It seemed to do so of its own accord, and Jim was conscious of mild surprise at it. “Get off the job, and get quick,” he said, “before I decide to pitch you off.” Wattrous was of two minds. The first was to bulldoze this young man and see if he couldn’t roar his way out of his unpleasant predicament; the other was to make matters worse by the application of personal violence. He would have admired to thrash Jim. Jim read his mind and pointed to the door. “Git,” he said. Wattrous hesitated an instant, then swung on his heel and strode away muttering. “I hope he meets up with White,” Jim said to himself with a grin. “Nobody’ll get hurt who doesn’t deserve it.” Then he leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, reviewing the last few moments. He had made a new acquaintance—the acquaintance of Jim Ashe functioning in an emergency—and it was a surprise to him. “Is that the kind of man I am?” he asked himself. Well, here he was. He was on the job, in the very midst of it, a quite different beginning from what he anticipated. He had expected to merge quietly into the affairs of his new property, but he had not merged into it unless one can say that a hammer thrown through a glass window merges into it. He had expected to enter his work with repugnance; now he looked forward to his next official act with a tingle of pleasant anticipation. After all, there might be more to business than he suspected.