I laughed. We looked at each other for some time. "Well?" I said. "He travels fastest who travels alone," he drawled, using the very words that had been in my mind. "But it is a shame--Miss Cox is a nice woman." "So is the other." "Yes, but it can't be--or anything like it." And the difference between us was that I believe he really cared. * * * * * So the Enterprise Market crumbled rapidly to its end, while I kept my eye open for a landing-place when I should have to jump. One day I was sent over to Dround's to see why our usual order of meats hadn't been delivered. I was referred to the manager. Carmichael, as I have said, was a burly, red-faced Irishman--and hot-tempered. His black hair stood up all over his head, and when he moved he seemed to wrench his whole big carcass with the effort. As I made my errand known to him, he growled something at me. I gathered that he didn't think favorably of the Enterprise and all that belonged thereto. "They can't have any more," he said. "I told your boss so the last time I was over." I hung on, not knowing exactly what to say or do. "I guess they must have it this time," I ventured after a while. "'Guess they must have it'! Who are you?" He thrust his big head over the top of his desk and looked at me, laying his cigar down deliberately, as if he meant to throw me out of the office for my impudence. "Oh!" I said as easily as I could, "I'm one of their help." "Well, my son, maybe you know better than I what they do with their money? They don't pay us." I knew he was trying to pump me about the Enterprise. I smiled and told him nothing, but I got that order delivered. Once or twice more, having been successful with the manager, I was sent on the same errand. Carmichael swore at me, bullied me, and jollied me, as his mood happened to be. Finally he said in earnest:-- "Joyce's got to the end of his rope, kid. You needn't come in here again. The firm will collect in the usual way." I had seen all along that this was bound to come, and had made up my mind what I should do in the event. "Do you hear?" the Irishman roared. "What are you standing there for? Get along and tell your boss I'll put a sheriff over there." "I guess I have come to stay," I replied easily. "Come to stay?" he said with a grin. "How much, kid?" [Illustration: _"Do you hear?" the Irishman roared._] "All you will give me." "What are you getting?" "Twenty." "I'll give you fifteen to drive a wagon," he said offhand, "and I'll fire you in a week if you haven't anything better with you than your cheek." "All right," I said coolly, not letting him see that I was ruffled by his rough tongue. In that way I made the second round of the ladder, and went whistling out of Dround's packing-house into the murky daylight of the Stock Yards. [Illustration: _My part was to drive a wagon for Dround at fifteen a week._]