Jimmy got his job. He wouldn’t have, probably, except for the fact that his message from Mr. Hope enabled him to get an interview with Mr. Cooper, during the course of which Jimmy convinced the office manager that he was an extremely intelligent and likable young man. Since he had no business experience whatever, all Mr. Cooper could think of to give him was a sort of glorified office-boy job, at a salary of fourteen dollars a week. Jimmy didn’t keep that job very long. Within a month he convinced the office manager that he could dictate business letters, and that his judgment on things he understood could be trusted. Also, Jimmy had made it clear by his attitude during that month that he never would tackle anything that he did not understand thoroughly; his encounter with Mr. Hope had impressed the importance of that on his mind for all time. So Jimmy was given a desk and a dictating machine, and a steady stream of letters, comparatively unimportant letters at first, was diverted in his direction. All that summer Jimmy worked very hard. He entered a night school where three evenings a week he studied with a view to getting “dope” on his big idea. He found this study helpful to him in general, but not very useful in giving him specific information on how to burn coal underground, especially since he was determined not to broach the subject directly to any one. When he had been with the company about a week, Jimmy approached Mr. Hope in the office and thanked him for the job. “All right,” said the secretary, and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” Jimmy felt then that his first impression of Mr. Hope had been quite a wrong one. “I do,” he answered earnestly. “Thank you very much—did you see Mr. Wentworth yet about that—that idea of mine?” Mr. Hope looked him steadily in the eyes. “Yes. He said to tell you he’s not interested. Sorry.” This was hardly a blow to Jimmy, for he had expected as much. But next time he broached the subject—it would be different, then! “Take my advice, young man,” the secretary went on, “get that foolish stuff out of your head. Stick to your job—you’ll get along—you look as though you had brains.” “Thanks,” said Jimmy. He tried to avoid sarcasm, “I will.” Mr. Hope nodded and left him. That summer was a hard one for Jimmy. Even though he had an all-absorbing idea to fill his thoughts, the utter loneliness of his life was hard to bear. He worked all day at the office. Three evenings a week he spent at the night school; and the others he wandered aimlessly about, going to the movies often and to a play occasionally, and always alone.