“You know,” he said coolly, “we left-handed chaps have all the luck. Ask any ball fan.” Mayberry laughed shortly and passed on. Ethel was particularly kind to Benway for the rest of that day, and Mabel Skinner, who also had heard the superintendent, stuck out her tongue at his retreating figure. “He’s such a nasty thing!” she whispered to Ethel. “I wish his old flivver would try to climb a telegraph pole with him--or go into the ditch!” For Skinner was a strong partisan of Ethel’s. Her friends were Skinner’s friends and her enemies Skinner’s particular foes. Besides, the younger girl had at once taken a fancy to Benway Chase. In looks alone the young fellow had the advantage of any man Mabel Skinner had ever seen before--not barring the general manager, whom she worshipped as a kind of god. A smile from Benway Chase would turn almost any girl’s head. He had the darlingest curls! His complexion was finer and clearer than any girl’s Skinner knew. There were shades of brown and red in his cheeks that reminded her of a ripe russet apple. “My!” she whispered to herself, her china-blue eyes staring from her head more staringly than usual, “wouldn’t I just like to put my two hands into his hair and pull it--ever so gently? And his eyes are just as lovely as our setter-pup’s. Oh, my! And of course he’s set his heart on Ethel!” She was not jealous of Ethel. Skinner was much too modest to feel such an emotion for one whom she so much admired. She considered Benway Chase as far above her as the moon and stars. She thought them beautiful in much the same way as she admired Benway. In the middle of that week Ethel was called into the manager’s office at an unusual hour--not long before closing time. He usually dictated his letters in the morning. But she carried her notebook and pencil when she answered the summons. “No letters, Miss Clayton,” Barton said, smiling and wheeling sideways in his chair to face her. “Sit down. This is a business conference----” “Oh! Mr. Mayberry----” “I’ve talked to Jim,” said Barton quickly. “I’ve been hammering things into him this fortnight, off and on. He has finally got to the point where he admits he may be able to swing things here for a bit while I run away.” Ethel flashed him a glance that he could not help but note. He raised an admonishing hand. “Don’t think I am running away from duty, Miss Clayton. I believe we are in such shape now--the Hapwood-Diller Company, I mean--that the business will run smoothly under the guidance of Mr. Mayberry--and you. I am banking a good deal on you, Miss Clayton,” his kindly smile again lighting up his face. “On me, Mr. Barton?” she hesitated.