love on her. "Good-bye," he said. "I shall not be able to have luncheon with you, but I'll be here at six o'clock."
She replied dispiritedly: "Good-bye."
The million interests of his morning's work rushed in over the thought of her in a confusion of incessant demands on his attention; for Pittsey, in order to break in his assistant to his duties, stood back from the wicket and made Don "handle the sale," interfering only to prevent an error or straighten out a snarl. "Sink or swim," he said, when Don faltered and wiped his forehead. "It's the only way you'll ever learn." Long before noon Don's head was aching and his wrists were weak, but his hands were beginning to move deftly, his voice came calm, and he had moments when he gained that mental detachment of the expert ticket seller who can do two things at once and watch himself doing them as if the thought and the action were the functions of two separate minds. "Now," Pittsey said, "you had better get your lunch and have a smoke. Don't come back here for an hour."
Don dropped his duties like a weight, with the feeling that he could not have supported the strain for another five minutes. Miss Morris was waiting for him in the foyer. "Goodness!" He took his breath, smiling and shaking his head at her. "I'm almost done out."
"Come along," she laughed. "What you need is a beefsteak and a glass of ale."
They went to a chop-house where he took the beefsteak but, to her amusement, declined the ale. She watched his plate like a grandmother, making him eat,
