“Yes,” said Reuben S., when he had finished, “it seems a good, up-to-date machine.”

“It’s the best on the market,” said G. Selden, “out and out, the best.”

“I understand you are only junior salesman?”

“Yes, sir.  Ten per and five dollars on every machine I sell.  If I had a territory, I should get ten.”

“Then,” reflectively, “the first thing is to get a territory.”

“Perhaps I shall get one in time, if I keep at it,” said Selden courageously.

“It is a good machine.  I like it,” said Mr. Vanderpoel.  “I can see a good many places where it could be used.  Perhaps, if you make it known at your office that when you are given a good territory, I shall give preference to the Delkoff over other typewriting machines, it might—­eh?”

A light broke out upon G. Selden’s countenance—­a light radiant and magnificent.  He caught his breath.  A desire to shout—­to yell—­to whoop, as when in the society of “the boys,” was barely conquered in time.

“Mr. Vanderpoel,” he said, standing up, “I—­Mr. Vanderpoel—­sir—­I feel as if I was having a pipe dream.  I’m not, am I?”

“No,” answered Mr. Vanderpoel, “you are not.  I like you, Mr. Selden.  My daughter liked you.  I do not mean to lose sight of you.  We will begin, however, with the territory, and the Delkoff.  I don’t think there will be any difficulty about it.”

. . . . .

Ten minutes later G. Selden was walking down Fifth Avenue, wondering if there was any chance of his being arrested by a policeman upon the charge that he was reeling, instead of walking steadily.  He hoped he should get back to the hall bedroom safely.  Nick Baumgarten and Jem Bolter both “roomed” in the house with him.  He could tell them both.  It was Jem who had made up the yarn about one of them saving Reuben S. Vanderpoel’s life.  There had been no life-saving, but the thing had come true.

“But, if it hadn’t been for Lord Mount Dunstan,” he said, thinking it over excitedly, “I should never have seen Miss Vanderpoel, and, if it hadn’t been for Miss Vanderpoel, I should never have got next to Reuben S. in my life.  Both sides of the Atlantic Ocean got busy to do a good turn to Little Willie.  Hully gee!”

In his study Mr. Vanderpoel was rereading Betty’s letters.  He felt that he had gained a certain knowledge of Lord Mount Dunstan.

CHAPTER XXXIX

ON THE MARSHES

The marshes stretched mellow in the autumn sun, sheep wandered about, nibbling contentedly, or lay down to rest in groups, the sky reflecting itself in the narrow dykes gave a blue colour to the water, a scent of the sea was in the air as one breathed it, flocks of plover rose, now and then, crying softly.  Betty, walking with her dog, had passed a heron standing at the edge of a pool.