entering the wardrobe, he changed his coat, rolling his working coat and eye shade into a bundle under his arm. Then he walked down the back of the toom toward the corridor leading to the cashier's office.
He paused, a dejected figure, at the time clock outside Mr. Talbott's private office, in which a light still burned, and punched his number. His glance wandered into Mr. Talbott's sanctum and met the eyes of the office manager, who had been observing him in a not unkindly manner. Speedy smiled bravely.
"Good-bye, Mr. Talbott," he sung out. "And thanks for the nice way you've treated me here. I deserve to be fired. I guess I'm no good on books."
Mr. Talbott smiled in return. Making a quick resolution, he called out, "Come in here a minute, Swift."
Speedy obeyed. He stood at the big mahogany desk of the office manager, like a chastened child.
"Maybe I was a little hasty in discharging you, Swift," said Mr. Talbott unexpectedly. "Perhaps you're just not adapted to the assignment we've given you here and you would be satisfactory in some other position. You don't like office work, do you?"
"No—I don't," said Speedy frankly.
"Well, you can forget what I said about leaving us," the executive went on. "When you report tomorrow, we'll try you on something that will take you outside and won't be quite so monotonous. I was young once myself, you know. I enjoy base-
