the hell of it in this town. Yuh're on the other side o' the fence, lookin' at the apples. Yuh can look at 'em till yer eyes drop out, if yuh don't get a lift over the pickets."
Don turned again. The man was smiling thoughtfully at the fountain. "An ol' frien' o' mine came along an' says: 'What're yuh doin', Jim?' 'Doin'?' I says. 'Doin' nothin'! Carryin' the banner! Poun'in' the sidewalks!' He says 'Hell!'—he says—'Why don't yuh get to work?' 'Why?' I says. 'Why don't I? 'Cause I can't. That's the why! 'Cause there don't seem to be any work to get?' 'Been to see ol' Whitten?' he asks me. 'Whitten?' I says. 'No! Who's Whitten?' He doesn't say a word. He jus' crooks his finger at me. 'Come along,' he says. 'I'll put yuh wise.'"
He pushed back his hat impatiently. "That's the hell o' this town. There's lot o' jobs lookin' fer young fullahs that're on the square. The trouble is the employers don't know how to find 'em. This ol' guy's a sort o' religious crank, an' whenever he can pick up a young fullah that's out o' work an' goin' to the dogs, he puts him in the first place that's open. A lot o' the best business houses take their ban's from him. Yuh see he makes in-quiries an' knows his men. It ain't charity either. He makes the office pay fer itself by chargin' five dollars. But hell, what's five dollars when yuh get a good thing at fifteen a"
Don broke in, clutching at the opportunity, in a trembling haste: "Do you think—I'm—I'm out of work. I'd pay him anything. I"
The man turned with a slow grin that brought the
