The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

FOUR SPEEDS FOR FOREST HILL. speed than on endurance. But—I should rather think that, for a young man like you, this job was a pretty good test of en- durance. You find it so?” “Well,” Orton said with a cheerfully deprecating smile, “of course it’s a trifle out of my line. But I guess it’s good for me.’ Mr. Polhemus beamed approbation. Orton patted himself on the back for two hours. ‘There had been other times when he felt that he could congratulate himself on saying the right thing at the right time; but he had rarely equaled that last speech. He chuckled as he thought of his letter to Arlene. If ever a man had bluffed and then made the bluff come true, he had done it. He wrote her another letter full of glowing prospects. If they glowed rather more brightly than the cold facts war- ranted—well, he might make some more come true. Given his chance— “The car is certainly running well,” Mr. Polhemus observed on the way from the station Monday evening. ‘You got the rear construction down to-day, didn’t you?” “Ves, sir,” Orton answered quietly. It was not the only thing he had done. He ran the car home swiftly. “Well, well,” nervously ejaculated the nominal head of the house; ‘‘the place be- gins to look differently already. I had about made up my mind the only thing to do with this lawn was to plow it up and grow a new one from seed.” Orton had actually won praise from Mrs. Polhemus with his industry on that lawn. It was probably as near to praise as she would ever give to any one who worked for her. “That’s much better—much better,” she had said. “I think now that you may go and finish that work you wanted to do on the car.” He had chuckled as he worked in the garage. He would have Mrs. Polhemus eating out of his hand in a couple of days. Mr. Polhemus spent ten or fifteen min- utes going over the improved front of his place. He was completely delighted with it.. From various snatches of his broken, nervous comments Orton gathered that the house belonged to Mrs. Polhemus, but that Mr. Polhemus had never been very well satisfied with it, and that he had really given his future employer a start toward about all the contentment a man might hope to have in a home he must share with Mrs. Polhemus. 4 A 625 “Vou’re going to run me into a three- hundred-dollar job of painting,” the man clucked, looking up at the house. ‘“We’ll— ahem—have a real place here yet.” Orton glowed with enthusiasm of his own. He had got interested himself. “By the way,” Mr. Polhemus remarked as he finally turned back to the house, “I shan’t be going to the early train to-mor- row. I’m having to take a little run to Chicago to-morrow. We'll drive to Morris- town and catch the Buffalo train at nine- something.” He found time, in spite of the bustle of packing, to go out into the dewy lawn again in the morning. His pleasure was still very obvious as Orton ran the car to Morris- town. — “Vou know, I’ve a little scheme which I think ought to work out well in the busi- ness,” he suddenly switched the subject as they were entering the outskirts of the wealthiest suburb on earth. “My idea is to establish distributing centers wherever we have two or three manufacturers using our engines, with a good man in charge to see that they are installed in a manner to fit the design of the car. “We have been trying it out two years in Detroit. Cameron started the works there. When we made him manager of the Newark factory we put McSorley in ’De- troit. The scheme is working so well that we think of extending it. You know Cam- eron?” Orton knew Cameron and McSorley well enough to know that neither of them had needed in several years to touch or consider a position that was not worth ten thou- sand a year. He had heard a rumor that Cameron had been made a director in the Polhemus corporation, and was building a small mansion less than a block from where Arlene lived in Forest Hill. His heart began to jump. This was the program for him. This was what Mr. Pol- hemus was planning. More distributing centers! More ten thousand dollar jobs! One of them for Orton! They had reached the station. Orton at- tended to the baggage for Mr. Polhemus. The baggagemaster was busy, and the train was already pulling into the station when Orton hurried back to the nervous little man who so thoroughly belied the theory he had enunciated, that one needed a strong constitution for business. “Thank you. Good-by. I suppose I (C@) mie VOOLKS (S@)