Pym knew who he was now.  “You young ruffian,” he gasped, “I never dreamt that you would come!”

“I have your letter engaging me in my pocket,” said Tommy, boldly, and he laid it on the table.  Pym surveyed it and him in comic dismay, then with a sudden thought produced nearly a dozen letters from a drawer, and dumped them down beside the other.  It was now his turn to look triumphant and Tommy aghast.

Pym’s letters were all addressed from the Dubb of Prosen Farm, near Thrums, N.B., to different advertisers, care of a London agency, and were Tommy’s answers to the “wants” in a London newspaper which had found its way to the far North.  “X Y Z” was in need of a chemist’s assistant, and from his earliest years, said one of the letters, chemistry had been the study of studies for T. Sandys.  He was glad to read, was T. Sandys, that one who did not object to long hours would be preferred, for it seemed to him that those who objected to long hours did not really love their work, their heart was not in it, and only where the heart is can the treasure be found.

“123” had a vacancy for a page-boy, “Glasgow Man” for a photographer; page-boy must not be over fourteen, photographer must not be under twenty.  “I am a little over fourteen, but I look less,” wrote T. Sandys to “123”; “I am a little under twenty,” he wrote to “Glasgow Man,” “but I look more.”  His heart was in the work.

To be a political organizer!  If “H and H,” who advertised for one, only knew how eagerly the undersigned desired to devote his life to political organizing!

In answer to “Scholastic’s” advertisement for janitor in a boys’ school, T. Sandys begged to submit his name for consideration.

Undoubtedly the noblest letter was the one applying for the secretaryship of a charitable society, salary to begin at once, but the candidate selected must deposit one hundred pounds.  The application was noble in its offer to make the work a labour of love, and almost nobler in its argument that the hundred pounds was unnecessary.

“Rex” had a vacancy in his drapery department.  T. Sandys had made a unique study of drapery.

Lastly, “Anon” wanted an amanuensis.  “Salary,” said “Anon,” who seemed to be a humourist, “salary large but uncertain.”  He added with equal candour:  “Drudgery great, but to an intelligent man the pickings may be considerable.”  Pickings!  Is there a finer word in the language?  T. Sandys had felt that he was particularly good at pickings.  But amanuensis?  The thing was unknown to him; no one on the farm could tell him what it was.  But never mind; his heart was in it.