He began to eye, finally to study files, to go through ponderous credit lists, to decipher, by the process of comparison, the marks he found against the names of customers. He read the classified papers on Mr. Barlow’s desk: those on the Wicker trays, before the stenographer filed them. Mr. Barlow saw him prowling. David was quite sure the sharp, kind face lighted up and the eyes twinkled. Mr. Barlow blew a sluggish ring of smoke from his cigar into the air, thrust through it with his pencil and exclaimed: “I got you!” to the ring. Cryptically enough. Yet it was such behavior that limited David’s discomfort. Mr. Barlow seemed quite manifestly pleased. He would go on prowling. This continued for several weeks. His uncle burst into their office with rustle of spread papers flying about him like sails. He made for Mr. Barlow’s desk without noticing David. “Oh, Mr. Barlow: I wonder can you help me in this matter of Dehn and Penny. You know, they have sued for that fall shipment. Yes, of course: the shipper is responsible. But it’s a complex case. Whereabouts do we stand as to the next ten years, should we decide to compromise?” Mr. Barlow made a coördinated reach for papers that were carefully set away in different drawers; at the same time he rang for his secretary. As he took a pad and began annotating: “File C-9, Dehn and Penny, Miss Loman,” he said and was at work. Mr. Deane was doubtless aware of the dispatch of his Mr. Barlow. He did not seat himself. He stood there, patiently waiting. He hummed a tune and beat time to it with the tip of pencil on Mr. Barlow’s desk. With a cloudy gaze he took in the cluttered room and David in the corner: then suddenly was lost in contemplation of the ceiling. “Here you are, Mr. Deane.” His uncle was startled as if from a revery. It was an effort to take his gaze from the fly-specked ceiling down to the pad of paper with its squad of figures. “Hm--yes--Hm,” said Mr. Deane as he studied the array. Mr. Barlow gave him sufficient time to study the report. Then, “There are two human elements besides,” he said, “Faraday is an erratic salesman. He may possibly lose us the account.” Mr. Deane nodded thoughtfully. “And on the credit page,” continued Mr. Barlow, “their new treasurer, Clumberg, is a man of intelligent imagination. His investment in Dehn and Penny means confidence, and his presence there means improvement. He is the sort of man who may be guided toward us by this very matter.” Mr. Barlow was silent. Mr. Deane stood a moment rigid in speculation. Then he relaxed. He had found his decision. “Very good. Very good. Thank you, Mr. Barlow. It is a good risk.” He turned to go. He paused at the door. His face was relieved of his stern cloud. In the wreathing of his mood, his eyes wreathed also and took in David: this time, not as a part of the office’s equipment, but as a young man in whom he had an interest.