It was extremely fortunate for Willie that there was no other boy in the office. It has been said that one boy is worth half as much as a man, while two boys are worth nothing at all. It might have been somewhat that way with Willie, had he had a companion anywhere near his own age, for he was full of fun and mischief. But every one else in the office had outgrown his puppy days. Even so, Willie might have indulged in some harmless fun at intervals, had not the Chief’s papers been stolen. After Willie once found that the finger of suspicion pointed to him, he lost much of his natural buoyancy of spirit. He was too sick at heart even to want to play. So he settled down sedately, like an elderly gentleman, to his work. Thus he gained fast in knowledge and ability, and without realizing it, turned a disadvantage into an advantage. It was impossible, however, to repress for very long a nature so buoyant and cheerful as Willie’s. Day followed day. And though the days did not lift the burden of suspicion from Willie, neither did they add to it. Slowly but surely Willie returned to his normal, cheerful frame of mind. Once this change had come, Willie’s natural curiosity about life asserted itself. In that respect, Willie was like a fox-terrier, now nosing this thing and now that, and always on the alert. Truly he was in a favorable place for one curious about life. All the world was spread out before him, in tabloid form. He had only to search, and he would find near at hand peoples from the farthest corners of the earth. He had only to look, and he would see how men lived in far countries, what they ate and drank and how they worked and what they did to amuse themselves. And all these things Willie was keen enough to learn. So Willie’s return to better spirits fired his curiosity afresh; and his curiosity in turn renewed his spirits. Before he knew it, Willie was very much like the old Willie Roy had known back home—a likable, dependable, whole-souled, jolly lad, but with an unusual amount of sense and understanding.