“Yes.  I want to know some things about this business.”

“Outside of my own department, I don’t know much.”

“Well; inside your own department, then.  May I ask some questions?”

With a businesslike air she consulted a tiny watch, then glanced toward a settee at the end of the hall.  “I’ll give you ten minutes,” she announced.  “Suppose we sit down over there.”

“Do the writers of those letters—­symp-letters, I believe, you call them—­” he began; “do they seem to get benefit out of the advice returned?”

“What advice?  To take Certina?  Why, yes.  Most of ’em come back for more.”

“You think it good medicine for all that long list of troubles?”

The girl’s eyes opened wide.  “Of course it’s a good medicine!” she cried.  “Do you think the Chief would make any other kind?”

“No; certainly not,” he hastened to disclaim.  “But it seems like a wide range of diseases to be cured by one and the same prescription.”

“Oh, we’ve got other proprietaries, too,” she assured him with her pretty air of partnership.  “There’s the Stomachine, and the headache powders and the Relief Pills and the liniment; Dr. Surtaine runs ’em all, and every one’s a winner.  Not that I keep much track of ’em.  We only handle the Certina correspondence in our room.  I know what that can do.  Why, I take Certina myself when there’s anything the matter with me.”

“Do you?” said Hal, much interested.  “Well, you’re certainly a living testimonial to its efficacy.”

“All the people in the shop take it.  It’s a good tonic, even when you’re all right.”

The listener felt his vague uneasiness soothed.  If those who were actually in the business had faith in the patent medicine’s worth, it must be all that was claimed for it.

“I firmly believe,” continued the little loyalist, “that the Chief has done more good and saved more lives than all the doctors in the country.  I’d trust him further than any regular doctor I know, even if he doesn’t belong to their medical societies and all that.  They’re jealous of him; that’s what’s the matter with them.”

“Good for you!” laughed Hal, feeling his doubts melt at the fire of her enthusiasm.  “You’re a good rooter for the business.”

“So’s the whole shop.  I guess your father is the most popular employer in Worthington.  Have you decided to come into the business, Mr. Surtaine?”

“Do you think I’d make a valuable employee, Miss Milly?” he bantered.

But to Milly Neal the subject of the Certina factory admitted of no jocularity.  She took him under advisement with a grave and quaint dubiety.

“Have you ever worked?”

“Oh, yes; I’m not wholly a loafer.”

“For a living, I mean.”

“Unfortunately I’ve never had to.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“I don’t believe I’d want you in my department, if it was up to me,” she pronounced.