The private office of Mr. Wentworth’s secretary, into which Jimmy was now ushered, was a smaller and only slightly less magnificent replica of that of the president himself. Mr. Leffingwell Hope took a seat at his desk, and motioned Jimmy to sit down also. “Mr. Wentworth is always very busy,” he began, in his soft, unpleasant tones. “What is it you have to say?” Jimmy, in spite of his continued resentment at the way he had been treated, and his increasing awe of Mr. Leffingwell Hope, was thinking fast. He had decided before that he would not tell his plan to Mr. Hope. But if he did not, probably he would never be able to tell it to any one—in this company, anyway. And the other companies he had been to had treated him even more coldly. If he did tell it to Mr. Hope, now while he had the opportunity, the secretary undoubtedly would explain it to Mr. Wentworth. And the president would be interested, of course, and then later on, he could see him again about it. Jimmy resolutely put aside his dislike and distrust of Mr. Hope and took the plunge. “It’s about the coal you burn in your factories for fuel, Mr. Hope,” he began. And then after a brief pause, he went on with a rush: “I’ve been a coal miner all my life, and I’ve been thinking a lot about coal. The coal you use in your glass factories has to be mined and hauled from the mine to you. That’s what makes it cost you so much. I—I know you burn a lot of it, and this year especially, with all the labor trouble and the shortage, it is getting to be awful expensive. And—and I’ve been thinking—why couldn’t the coal be burned in the ground right where it is, and put the factory there—instead of mining it? The heat would come up from below, you know.” Jimmy paused, a little out of breath. It wasn’t exactly what he had wanted to say; somehow it didn’t seem to sound quite as forceful as he had thought it would. Mr. Leffingwell Hope raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you’d better say that over again,” he suggested. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” “Why, I—you see, Mr. Hope, my idea is to build a factory over some coal deposit, and then, instead of mining the coal, just burn it in the ground, and pipe the heat up to the factory boilers.” Once Jimmy got started he found it easier. Mr. Hope listened casually—impatiently, Jimmy thought. But he did not notice the gleam of interest in the secretary’s eyes so at variance with his disinterested, almost sarcastic manner. Finally Mr. Hope interrupted him. “Your idea is ingenious, young man, and certainly it is novel.” He laughed. “I don’t mind saying, even if it were feasible, it perhaps would be a good thing for us.” Jimmy flushed at the secretary’s sneering tone. “You—you don’t think the idea’s any good, do you?” he asked aggressively. Mr. Hope’s manner suddenly changed. “You say you propose to burn this coal in the ground just where it lies?” “Yes, sir.” Jimmy hated himself for the impulse that made him answer so deferentially.