This second interview with Mr. Wentworth was as different from the first as it well could be. For one thing, the president was in a more receptive mood than he would have been before. Six months had put him just that much nearer completion of his plans regarding the new factory for the making of optical glass. The site had not yet been selected; indeed, it looked as though finding a satisfactory one would prove a difficult task. This time, too, Jimmy knew what he was going to talk about. He had the facts—and he had the ability now to present them forcibly and intelligently. Also he had George Cooper with him; and the technical knowledge of Isaac Merkle to call upon. So Jimmy tackled the president with an assurance that lent force to his arguments. The office manager sat with his chair tilted back against the wall. Mr. Wentworth occupied his usual seat at his desk, and Jimmy faced him across it. Jimmy had expected to ignore Mr. Leffingwell Hope and the part he had played, but the secretary was injected into the conversation almost immediately. Jimmy began by announcing that he realized Mr. Wentworth had not been impressed with his idea when he had heard it before. Then he went ahead and outlined it briefly. Whereupon the president, with a directness characteristic of business men of his type, immediately rang his buzzer to summon Mr. Hope. “Is this what you told my secretary that first morning you were here, Mr. Rand?” “Why—why yes, sir—nearly the same,” said Jimmy, surprised. Mr. Hope’s secretary announced that he had not come in that morning. The president frowned, tapping his desk with a lead pencil thoughtfully. Mr. Cooper, scenting something wrong, spoke up quickly. “Pardon me, chief. There’s something peculiar about this that you don’t exactly understand. We’d rather not speak of it now; Mr. Rand just wanted you to consider his plan in relation to our new factory. This other matter—about Mr. Hope—we know a good deal about that, too, but we’d rather let it go till some other time.” “Strange, very strange,” said the president musingly. “Mr. Hope _did_ tell you what I wanted that day, didn’t he?” Jimmy ventured. “He told me about your mother’s potential gas-well in—Alberta, I think it was.” Jimmy gasped. “Why—what—why, I never—” Again Mr. Cooper interposed. “Chief, listen,” he began vigorously. “Here are the facts: Mr. Rand came into the company that morning to tell you what he has just told you. At your direction he told it to Mr. Hope.” “How do you know what he told Mr. Hope?” the president snapped. “He repeated it all to me ten minutes afterward,” declared the office manager unblushingly. “I was enthusiastic; I thought there was something in it. Then, later, when Mr. Hope reported that you were not interested, Rand and I thought we’d work it out together. That’s what we’ve done, and now he’s ready to ask your opinion of it again. That’s all we know about it.”