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THE BREATH OF SCANDAL

"You know the reasons; the question is, why should you?"

"A couple of thousand more a year, Bill."

"To do what?"

"Market that new carburetor of his."

"Do you want to market carburetors the rest of your life?"

Gregg laughed disarmingly; it was always impossible for Billy to get wholly angry with him, much as the serious and conscientious Whittaker would have liked to punch Gregg's careless, handsome head, if that would put some sense of self-accountability into it.

"Look here, Bill; I don't really get any deep experience out of selling refrigerating machines; but I do it—for seven thousand a year. Honestly, I don't see any spiritual or moral difference, except for the possible effect of shock on my creditors, if I'm able to pay 'em by taking nine thousand from Hartford for boosting a kerosene carburetor for Fords."

"Damn!" said Whittaker, who seldom swore. "No one's comparing the moralities of refrigeration and carburetors. We're talking about what you're doing to your life in shifting about whenever you get a good offer. If selling kerosene carburetors is what you want to do to develop yourself, you know I say, 'Go to it.' No matter what you want to do, find the thing that is and stick to it. To do something else only for the sake of taking in more money now is——" he halted in the earnestness of his exasperation.

"Say it, Bill."

"Selling yourself, Gregg; and you've no end of offers for yourself. That's your trouble. Everybody likes you, whether you care to have 'em or not. Everybody wants to please you; everybody that's got something to