To Tommy the most thrilling speeches in the world were Bill's, on the subject of what the automobile industry would become when the Byrnes carburetor was finished. Bill contented himself with seeing it on every automobile in the world; but Tommy saw the seventeen thousand dollars paid off. It would make him master of himself, czar of his destiny; so that the remoter future ceased to be a problem worth considering. Tommy had so little to do with Mr. Thompson now that he did not even wonder if Mr. Grosvenor ever spoke to the chief about him. One morning the message came by telephone to Mr. Grosvenor's office that Mr. Thompson wished to see Tommy at the works. Tommy instantly went. “Tommy,” said Mr. Thompson, abruptly, “do you now want to be a cog?” Tommy was not sure he understood. He realized that he was to be put to work definitely as a small part of the Tecumseh machine, and wondered what Mr. Thompson thought him best fitted for. He himself was not quite sure what he'd like to be; indeed, the fear suddenly came to him that he took an interest in too many things. But whatever Thompson said, he would do. “I'm willing to be, sir.” “Have you picked it out yourself?” “You are the cog-picker, Mr. Thompson. You know more about it than I do.” “I make mistakes,” said Thompson, frowning slightly. “If you make one in my case,” said Tommy, very seriously, “I'll tell you--the moment I myself am absolutely sure of it.” “Now answer my first question,” said Thompson. “I am sorry to say I have not found out what cog I want to be.” It cost Tommy a sharp pang to acknowledge his failure. That is why he looked unflinchingly into Mr. Thompson's eyes as he spoke. “Is that all you can say?” Thompson's voice was so incurious that it sounded cold. “Well, Mr. Thompson,” Tommy said, desperately, “the last cog always seems to be my cog.” “Why didn't you say so at once?” “It didn't seem like an answer.” “It was more; it was a clue.” Mr. Thompson looked at Tommy a full minute before he asked, “Are you still a college boy?” “I--I'm afraid I am, sir.” “Keep on being it. Listen to me. You will spend next month in the shop.” “Yes, sir.” “Looking!” “Yes, sir.” “At the machinists and the engineers and the electricians and the mechanics and the foundry-men and the laborers and the painters--at everybody. You will look at them. But what I want you to see is men.” “Human beings?” Thompson nodded. Then he said: “Four weeks. Do you know Milton?” Tommy tried to recall. Thompson added: “John--poet.” “We read him--” “You don't know him. I have found him of great value in automobile manufacturing.” Thompson said this so seriously that Tommy, instead of smiling, was filled with admiration for Thompson, who went on, gravely: “He even had in mind the particular job of Mr. Thomas Leigh--_Paradise Lost_, Eighth Book. For your special benefit he wrote: “'To know That which before us lies in daily life