him that Sam was alone. He went into the store.
"Well, you did spill the beans, didn't you?" Sam demanded in disgust. "Why did you tell your father? I didn't want him to know this until I was ready to quit. Now I'll be out a couple of weeks' wages. I ought to collect that from our profits."
Up to this point Sam had dominated the enterprise. But Bert had met trouble that day and was in no mood for genial compromises. His reply, short and peppery, gave testimony that the Shoppers' Service was going to be no strictly one-man affair.
"Show it to me in our agreement," he said.
Sam became blandly argumentative. "This thing has come up later. You shouldn't expect me to lose. . . ."
"You're putting up five-eighths the money and getting two-thirds of the profits. That ought to be enough."
Sam gave him a startled glance and said no more.
Bert walked restlessly back and forth in front of the show cases that held the shirts and underwear. He had already dismissed from his mind the spat with Sam . . . his father's anger was of far more moment.
"Did my father pitch into you?" he demanded suddenly.
"He asked me if I was dissatisfied here," the
