regularly and handing it to Mrs. Ford to pay the landlady, he knew the Edison plants from the basements up. He had become enthusiastic over electrical problems. In his idle time, after his twelve hours work at the sub-station, he was planning the batteries and spark-plugs for his gasoline engine.
About that time a shift in the force left vacant the place of manager of the mechanical department. Gilbert sent for Ford.
"Think you can handle the job?" he asked him.
"Yes, I can handle it," Ford said. Gilbert gave him the job. When he drew his pay at the end of the month he found he was getting $150.
"Now," he said to himself, "I've got to have a place of my own, where I can work on my gasoline engine at night."
"Now we can have a home of our own, and get away from this awful boarding-house," Mrs. Ford exclaimed, when he told her the news, and he, contrasting the supper he had just eaten with memories of her excellent cooking, heartily agreed. Besides, it seemed to him that paying rent was wasting money. He proposed to buy a lot and build on it.
They talked it over, walking up and down Detroit s wide, tree-shaded streets in the evening. Next morning early Mrs. Ford put on her hat and went down to the real estate offices. Before night two hustling young city-lot salesmen had
