“If the place were yours,” Richard, alive with interest, put it to him, “now, this minute, what would be the first thing you would do?”

Carson laughed—­not derisively, but like a boy who sees a chance at a game he likes to play.  “Have a bonfire, I’d like to say,” he vowed.  “But that wouldn’t be good business, and I wouldn’t do it if I had the chance—­unless there was insurance to cover!  And there’s money in the stock.  Part of it could be got out.  But it ought to be got out before the moon is old.  Then I’d like the fun of stocking up with new lines, new departments, things the town never heard of.  I’d make that blanket window you told me about look sick.  That is,” he added modestly, “I think I could.  Any good general buyer could.  I’m a dress-goods man myself, only I’ve grown up under Kendrick & Company’s roof and I’ve been watching other lines than my own.  It interests me—­the possibilities of that store.  Why, the man ought not to fail!  He has the best location in town, the biggest windows, the best fixtures, judging by the outside of the places I saw as I came along.  I looked at the blanket-window place.  That’s a dark store when you get back a dozen feet.  Benson’s, being on the corner, is fairly light to the back door.  That counts more than any other thing about the building itself.  And the fellow has his underwear in the brightest spot in the shop and the dress goods in the darkest!  His heavy lines by the door and his notions and fancy stuff way back where you’ve got to hunt for them!  And his windows—­oh, blazes!  I wanted to climb up and jump on the mess and then throw it out!”

Richard drove Carson back to town, his heart afire with longing to do something, he did not yet know what.  He could not consult Carson about the matter further than to find out from him what was wrong with the business from the standpoint of the customer; why the place did not attract the customer.  Details of this phase of the question Carson had given him in plenty, all leading back to the one trouble—­Benson had not understood how to appeal to the class of custom at his doors.  He had not the right goods, nor the right means of display; he had not the right salespeople; in brief, he had nothing, according to Carson, that he ought to have, and everything, poor fellow, that he ought not!  It was a hard case.

As to actual business foundations and resources, neither of the young men could judge.  They had no means of knowing how deeply Benson was in debt, nor what were his assets beyond the visible stock.  Yet his fellow shopkeepers considered him on the verge of bankruptcy; they must know.

“I’ve enjoyed this trip, Mr. Kendrick,” Carson said at parting, “in more ways than I can tell you.  If I can be of use to you in any way, call on me, please.  I’m honestly interested in your friend Mr. Benson.  I’d like to see him win out.”

“So should I.”  Richard shook hands heartily.  “I’ve enjoyed the trip, too, Mr. Carson.  I never had better company.  Thank you for going—­and for teaching me a lot of things I wanted to know.”