The general manager was, to put it mildly, astonished.  He was a mighty man of valour himself, so mighty that his yearly salary would have been to the average American citizen a small fortune.  The office was one to fill which similar houses had often scoured the country without avail.  Other business owners had been forced to remain at the helm long after health and happiness demanded retirement.  Among these, Henderson was held to be so competent a man that Matthew Kendrick was considered incredibly lucky to keep his hold upon him.

To Matthew Kendrick’s grandson Henderson put a number of pertinent inquiries concerning the store in question which Richard found he could not intelligently answer.  He flushed a little under the fire.

“I suppose you think I might have investigated a bit for myself,” said he.  “But that’s just what I don’t want to do.  I want to send a man up there whom the owner doesn’t know; then we can get at things without giving ourselves away.”

The general manager inferred from this that philanthropy, not business interest, was at the bottom of young Kendrick’s quest and his surprise vanished.  The young man was known as kind-hearted and generous; he was undoubtedly merely carrying out a careless impulse, though he certainly seemed much in earnest in the doing of it.

“You might take Carson, assistant buyer for the dress-goods department, with you,” suggested Henderson after a little consideration.  “He could probably give you a day just now.  Alger, his head, is back from London this week.  Carson’s a bright man—­in line for promotion.  He’ll put his finger on the trouble without hesitation—­if it lies in the lack of business experience, buying and selling, as you say.  I’ll send for him.”

In two minutes Richard Kendrick and Alfred Carson were face to face, and an appointment had been made for the following day.  Richard took a liking to the assistant buyer on the spot.  He felt as if he were selecting a competent physician for his friend, and was glad to send him a man whose personality was both prepossessing and inspiring of confidence.

As for Carson, it was an interesting experience for him, too.  He thoroughly enjoyed the seventy-mile drive at the side of the young millionaire, who sent his powerful car flying over the frozen roads at a pace which made his passenger’s face sting.  Carson was more accustomed to travel in subways and sleeping-cars than by long motor drives, and by the time Eastman was reached he was glad that the return drive would be preceded by a hot luncheon.

“We won’t go past the store,” Richard explained, making a detour from the main street of the town, regardless of the fact that he forsook a good road for a poor one.  “I don’t want him to see me to-day.”

He pressed upon his guest the best that the hotel afforded, then sent him to the corner store with instructions to let nothing escape his attention.  “Though I don’t need to tell you that,” he added with a laugh.  “You’ll see more in a minute than I should in a month.”