At the bottom of the card he wrote in pencil, “representing H. B. Claflin & Co.”

“Of course you’ve heard of our firm,” he said.

“Certainly.”

“I don’t have the firm name printed on my card, for Claflin won’t allow it.  You will notice that I am called for old President Madison.  He was an old friend of my grandfather.  In fact, grandfather held a prominent office under his administration—­ collector of the port of New York.”

“I have no card with me,” responded Luke.  “But my name is Luke Larkin.”

“Good name.  Do you live in New York?”

“No; a few miles in the country.”

“And whom do you represent?”

“Myself for the most part,” answered Luke, with a smile.

“Good!  No one has a better right to.  I see there’s something in you, Luke.”

“You’ve found it out pretty quick,” thought Luke.

“And I hope we will get better acquainted.  If you’re not permanently employed by this party, whose name you don’t give, I will get you into the employ of Claflin & Co., if you would like it.”

“Thank you,” answered Luke, who thought it quite possible that he might like to obtain a position with so eminent a firm.  “How long have you been with them?”

“Ten years—­ever since I was of your age,” promptly answered Mr. Coleman.

“Is promotion rapid?” Luke asked, with interest.

“Well, that depends on a man’s capacity.  I have been pushed right along.  I went there as a boy, on four dollars a week; now I’m a traveling salesman—­drummer as it is called—­and I make about four thousand a year.”

“That’s a fine salary,” said Luke, feeling that his new acquaintance must be possessed of extra ability to occupy so desirable a position.

“Yes, but I expect next year to get five thousand—­Claflin knows I am worth it, and as he is a liberal man, I guess he will give it sooner than let me go.”

“I suppose many do not get on so well, Mr. Coleman.”

“I should say so!  Now, there is a young fellow went there the same time that I did—­his name is Frank Bolton.  We were schoolfellows together, and just the same age, that is, nearly—­he was born in April, and I in May.  Well, we began at the same time on the same salary.  Now I get sixty dollars a week and he only twelve—­and he is glad to get that, too.”

“I suppose he hasn’t much business capacity.”

“That’s where you’ve struck it, Luke.  He knows about enough to be clerk in a country store—­and I suppose he’ll fetch up there some day.  You know what that means—­selling sugar, and tea, and dried apples to old ladies, and occasionally measuring off a yard of calico, or selling a spool of cotton.  If I couldn’t do better than that I’d hire out as a farm laborer.”

Luke smiled at the enumeration of the duties of a country salesman.  It was clear that Mr. Coleman, though he looked city-bred, must at some time in the past have lived in the country.