This he insisted on doing. After the brusk departure of Barton in the car Ethel was too proud to show any chagrin. Besides, Morry Copley was evidently desirous of pleasing her. She noted that he had assumed quite a military carriage and concluded that his few weeks in camp had done him a world of good. “Won’t you let me call on you when I come back to Mailsburg on furlough, Miss Clayton?” he asked, when he had showed her everything of general interest in the camp. “Most certainly not!” Ethel exclaimed bluntly. “You know very well Mrs. Copley would be horrified if you visited a working girl, Mr. Copley.” “Aw, fiddle!” returned Morry in disgust, “I’m not half as much tied to her apron strings as you think.” “Perhaps you should be,” Ethel laughed. “What will she say if you really are ordered to France?” “Mothaw really thinks this is all play. She has no idea we’ll really go. At least, not such fellows as Bradley and me.” “And--will you?” Ethel wickedly observed. “If I get my commission I’ll be off before she knows it--poor dear lady,” he declared. “Don’t you people in Mailsburg fret. There are some men in this camp besides Frank Barton.” Ethel sent the telegram holding up the stock order as instructed by Barton, and when she arrived home late in the afternoon she transcribed her notes of the letter to Mr. Macon Hammerly and sent it to that gentleman by special messenger. The latter appeared in the offices of the Hapwood-Diller Company early on Monday morning. For once he seemed to wish to catch Jim Mayberry at his desk. “Let’s see,” scowled Macon Hammerly, eyeing the superintendent blackly, “have you managed to find a hat in town big enough for you, Jim?” “I have ’em made to order--and stretchable,” grinned the younger man, never at a loss for an answer when he met Hammerly, whom he just as cordially disliked as Hammerly disliked him. “What’s biting you now?” “A suspicion that you have a swelled head is eating on me,” frankly announced the old grain dealer, his bushy eyebrows meeting again. “I’ve come to give you a mite of advice.” “Thanks!” returned Mayberry, encouragingly. “I’ve been expecting this visit ever since Frank went away. It must have pained you to keep away so long.” “Not exactly,” returned Hammerly. “It’s only surprised me that I haven’t had to come around before. I told Barton I’d keep an eye on you.” “Thanks again,” growled Mayberry, and this time he did not look so pleasant. Hammerly was quite unmoved. “Here’s the trouble,” he said, quietly watching the superintendent. “Barton wrote me to look up the Bogata people again.” The hit was palpable. Mayberry jumped in his chair. He lifted his face to stare at the old man in open surprise. “Seems there’s an order kicking around the office here from them. Barton had his doubts about accepting it. Now there _is_ no doubt. You’re not to do a stroke of work on those goods.” “Who says so?” snapped Mayberry. “Who’s in charge here, I want to know, Mr. Hammerly?”