Don explained that he had just left college; that the only letter he had was from the Dean of the University.
"What!" He tilted his hat over one ear, scratching his temple humorously. "A college education! Well, I'm dd! Won't ol' Whitten warm to that! An' a Dean! Say, why didn't yuh get pass-me-ons from the President an' Gov'ner What's-his-name, while yuh were? This 's easier 'n cashin' a cheque. What d'yuh want? How'd private secret'ry to a Fift' Avenuh coupon-cutter do yuh?"
Don laughed rather uncertainly. "I'm afraid there's not much chance of that?"
"Afraid? Hell! Afraid nothin'! I wish 't I'd had yer chance the day Jim walked me down here. Where the It was down aroun' here somewheres." He looked up a side street. "Well, if he's moved, we can tree him in the d'rect'ry. It must be along further."
Don winked rapidly at the faltering of his hope. The clatter of an elevated train overhead broke in upon him with a return of the old jostled discouragement of these heedless streets. He read the signboards as he walked, vainly trying to occupy his mind in the suspense.
The man said: "Here y' are. I thought the ol' guy"
Don tripped on the threshold as he followed in, weak in the knees. A red-haired girl, at a desk, nodded in reply to the man's "Mr. Whitten in?"—looking not at him but at Don. Her hard grey eye pursued him with an indifferent curiosity as he passed through to the inner office.
Mr. Whitten rose, peering short-sightedly, and Don,
