Then he lighted a cigar—­from his own case this time, though he strolled in to see his friend the druggist when he had finished it, and bought of him various other sundries.  He did not venture to mention Benson to-day, but the druggist did.  Evidently Benson’s imminent failure was the talk of the town, and the regret, as well, of those who were not his rivals.

“Man can’t succeed at a thing he picks up so late, and when he’d rather do something else,” volunteered the druggist.  “Now I began in this shop by sweeping out, mornings, and running errands, delivering goods.  Got interested—­came to be a clerk after a while.  Always saw myself making up dope, compounding prescriptions.  Went off to a school of pharmacy—­came back—­showed the old man I could look after the prescription business.  Finally bought him out.  Trained for the trade from the cradle as you might say.”

“I wonder if I’m going to be useless,” thought Richard, “because I’m not trained from the cradle.  Carson says he began as a wrapper at fifteen.  At my age—­he looks my age—­he’s assistant buyer for one of Kendrick & Company’s biggest departments, and ‘in line for promotion,’ as Henderson says.  Rich Kendrick, do you think you’re in line for promotion—­anywhere?  I wonder!”

He had gone back to the hotel and was impatiently awaiting Carson for some time before the buyer appeared.  Carson came in with a look of great interest and eagerness on his face.  The assistant buyer had, Richard thought, one of the brightest faces he had ever seen.  He was sure he had asked the right man to diagnose the case of the invalid business, even before Carson began to talk.  As the talk progressed he was convinced of it.

Yet Carson began at the human, not the business, end of the matter.  Richard Kendrick, himself full of concern for his friend Hugh Benson, liked that, too.

“I never felt sorrier for a man in my life,” said Carson.  “He shows a lot of pluck; he never once owned that the thing was too much for him.  But I got him to talking—­a little.  Didn’t need to talk much; the whole place was shouting at me—­every counter, every showcase.  Thunder!”

“How did you get him to talking?” Richard asked eagerly.

“Represented myself as an ex-travelling man—­the dry-goods line.  It’s true enough, if not just the way he took it.  Of course he didn’t give me any facts about his business, but we discussed present conditions of the trade pretty well, and he owned that a good many things puzzled him just as much as when he was a little chap and used to listen to his father giving orders.  What’s going to be wanted and how much?  When to load up and when to unload?  How to catch the public fancy and not get caught yourself?  In short, how to turn over the stock in season and out of season—­turn it over and get out from under!  He knows no more than a man who can’t swim how to keep his head above water.  Nice fellow, too; I could see it in every word he said.  He’d be a success in, say, a professorship in a college—­and not a business college, either.”