"The offer of which I speak is based on your taking the presidency of the Salamander, with a five-year contract, at a salary of twenty thousand dollars a year. You will be required to purchase as a matter of good faith--backing your entry, as it were--a certain amount of the company's stock; indeed, I presume you would wish to do so, and that is a feature that can be easily arranged. And we, of the Salamander, want a man qualified to turn the company into a money maker, and who can assure us at the same time of a reasonable increase in our premium income--say in the five years, from two and a half up to three millions." O'Connor smiled rather cynically. "You don't want much, do you?" he observed. "Those are modest requests." "And," continued Mr. Murch, disregarding the interruption, "we wish to be assured by reasonable show of proof that the new business will be of a class that will be more profitable than the old--in other words, that it will not increase the company's present loss ratio." "Which is quite high enough already," commented the other, dryly. "In short, Mr. O'Connor, we must be assured not only that you can secure this increase in income, but we feel that we are entitled to be shown where it is likely to come from, and how you are going to stop the loss on our present business, before the matter goes before our directorate." The Guardian's Vice-President rose, and stood looking down at Mr. Murch from across the table. "You need me, Mr. Murch," he said. "I don't have to tell you that. You're supposed to be an expert in picking winners, although you made a bad break on Wellwood. I'm the right man for your job, and you knew it when you sent for me. And your offer is a handsome one--I'll admit that. I'll admit it so willingly that I'll come out and lay my cards--and yours--on the table. I'll put it to you straight." "Yes?" replied the capitalist, inquiringly.