The ways that had known Wayne knew him again. He returned to the office, where little had changed; he met Wingfield at the Club and learned all the gossip of the city. Walsh, in his glass cage, discussed the profits of the mercantile company, and brought Wayne to date as to the financial situation, over which he growled characteristically. He answered Wayne’s questions as to Colonel Craighill’s affairs guardedly, but from his manner Wayne assumed the worst. Walsh was reluctant to discuss these matters, but he proposed, in his usual blunt fashion, that Wayne join him in the management of the mercantile company. “I’ve got too much to do down here. You can name your own salary, and create your own job. We can double the territory we work now and it would be a big help to me to have you. You’ve got your oats sowed now and when I curl up with apoplexy some day you will be ready to continue the business at the old stand.” Wayne, touched by the old fellow’s generosity, asked a day or two to think it over. From Paddock, who called on him at the Craighill offices, Wayne learned that Joe had recovered and had found employment with a sporting goods house; but he asked no questions and Jean’s name was not spoken. It was finally agreed that on the first of May Wayne should assume an active part in the management of the mercantile company; but Wayne’s life was not so easily to be brought to tranquil waters, as we shall see. CHAPTER XXXI WAYNE SEES JEAN AGAIN Richardson, the distinguished editor of that admirable magazine, the _Hemisphere_, was a guest of the Allequippa Club, and Wingfield exercised the right of an old friend to demand the reason for his descent upon Pittsburg. The editor led the way to his room and produced a portfolio of pen and ink and water-colour sketches of children. These he disposed about his room and invited Wingfield’s admiration. There was undoubtedly genius in the things; the key of pathos and humour was struck with a true, firm touch. Most interesting of all, there were babies--a group of them--types of half a dozen races. “We cried over that bunch at the office. We don’t find the real thing every day and when it comes it’s always out of the dark. It’s a woman and she lives here. I suppose you never by any chance heard of her.” Wingfield had already taken off his glasses to read the name scrawled at the bottom of one of the drawings--a newsboy with an infectious grin on his face.