“Oh, pshaw!” chuckled the superintendent. “Let it go till to-morrow. It’s almost closing time, anyway. Take a little spin in that car of mine before supper, will you?” “Thank you; no.” “Aw! don’t act so offishly, Ethel. You’ve never been to ride with me yet.” “I understand that other girls have--to their sorrow,” Miss Clayton responded in a tone that cut through even Jim Mayberry’s skin. He flushed dully and his lazy eyes began to glow. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Ethel,” he said. “I want to talk to you about that. Let me drive you home to-night and I’ll explain these stories that you have heard.” He strolled away as Little Skinner came across the room to ask a question. Could it be that Little Skinner had received a secret signal to break in upon the superintendent’s objectionable line of conversation? At least, her business with Ethel was brief. The latter’s attention immediately returned to the problem the manager had put up to her for solution. She was made proud whenever Frank Barton did anything like this, and of late it was not infrequent that he had shown his trust in her ability. Yet there was a sting in the way he had spoken, too. She knew well enough that the sting was unintentional on his part. Never had the general manager been other than scrupulously polite to her. She was always “Miss Clayton” to him, and he deferred to her in many ways and was as courteous in his busiest moments as he could have been meeting her at a social affair. That was Frank Barton’s way. But-- She found that her gaze had wandered from the papers before her to the small mirror set into the rather ornate inkstand that stood upon her desk--a birthday present from her office mates not many months before. The girl reflected there was, Ethel Clayton very well knew, better looking than the average girl. Her even features were quietly beautiful. She perhaps lacked the verve and dash possessed by some girls. She had one particular girl in mind as she thought this. She lacked the tricks of the social trade too, that that same girl possessed. She shrugged her shoulders and brought her attention back with a jerk to the matter in hand. But there was faint disgust in her tone as she murmured: “Yes, just as he says: ‘Miss Clayton is so perfectly capable.’ Pah!” CHAPTER II A COMPARISON She read the letter from the Bogata Company and again glanced through the order. It was a large one. It called for certain supplies she knew the factory did not have on hand. She realized that the goods ordered were all of a special pattern and would be practically useless either to the Hapwood-Diller Company or to any other concern save the Bogata people if the latter should be unable to take the goods.