the dignity of the man who has found himself.  “I’m scared,” he went on, “about saying this, because maybe you’ll think I’ve got an idea I’m kind of a little tin god, and all I’ve got to do is to say which girl I’ll want and she’ll come a-running, but it isn’t that; it isn’t.  It’s just that I want you to know I’m going to give all of me to you now if I can get you to want me.  And I am glad I knew Istra—­she learnt me a lot about books and all, so I have more to me, or maybe will have, for you.  It’s —­Nelly—­promise you’ll be—­my friend—­promise—­If you knew how I rushed back here tonight to see you!”

“Billy—­”

She held out her hand, and he grasped it as though it were the sacred symbol of his dreams.

“To-morrow,” she smiled, with a hint of tears, “I’ll be a reg’lar lady, I guess, and make you explain and explain like everything, but now I’m just glad.  Yes,” defiantly, “I will admit it if I want to!  I am glad!”

Her door closed.

CHAPTER XIX

TO A HAPPY SHORE

Upon an evening of November, 1911, it chanced that of Mrs. Arty’s flock only Nelly and Mr. Wrenn were at home.  They had finished two hot games of pinochle, and sat with their feet on a small amiable oil-stove.  Mr. Wrenn laid her hand against his cheek with infinite content.  He was outlining the situation at the office.

The business had so increased that Mr. Mortimer R. Guilfogle, the manager, had told Rabin, the head traveling-salesman, that he was going to appoint an assistant manager.  Should he, Mr. Wrenn queried, try to get the position?  The other candidates, Rabin and Henson and Glover, were all good friends of his, and, furthermore, could he “run a bunch of guys if he was over them?”

“Why, of course you can, Billy.  I remember when you came here you were sort of shy.  But now you’re ’most the star boarder!  And won’t those others be trying to get the job away from you?  Of course!”

“Yes, that’s so.”

“Why, Billy, some day you might be manager!”

“Say, that would be great, wouldn’t it!  But hones’, Nell, do you think I might have a chance to land the assistant’s job?”

“I certainly do.”

“Oh, Nelly—­gee! you make me—­oh, learn to bank on myself—­”

He kissed her for the second time in his life.

“Mr. Guilfogle,” stated Mr. Wrenn, next day, “I want to talk to you about that assistant managership.”

The manager, in his new office and his new flowered waistcoat, had acted interested when Our steady and reliable Mr. Wrenn came in.  But now he tried to appear dignified and impatient.

“That—­” he began.

“I’ve been here longer than any of the other men, and I know every line of the business now, even the manufacturing.  You remember I held down Henson’s job when his wife was sick.”