When Jimmy arrived at Mr. Pett's office on Pine Street atten-thirty the next morning--his expressed intention of gettingup early enough to be there by nine having proved an emptyboast--he was in a high state of preparedness. He had made readyfor what might be a trying interview by substituting acombination of well-chosen dishes at an expensive hotel for theless imaginative boarding-house breakfast with which he had oflate been insulting his interior. His suit was pressed, his shoesgleamed brightly, and his chin was smoothly shaven. These things,combined with the perfection of the morning and that vagueexhilaration which a fine day in down-town New York brings to theman who has not got to work, increased his natural optimism.

　　Something seemed to tell him that all would he well. He wouldhave been the last person to deny that his position was a littlecomplicated--he had to use a pencil and a sheet of paper to showhimself just where he stood--but what of that? A fewcomplications in life are an excellent tonic for the brain. Itwas with a sunny geniality which startled that unaccustomedstripling considerably--and indeed caused him to swallow hischewing gum--that he handed in his card to Mr. Pett's watchfullywaiting office-boy.

　　"This to the boss, my open-faced lad!" he said. "Get swiftly offthe mark."The boy departed dumbly.

　　From where he stood, outside the barrier which separated visitorsto the office from the workers within, Jimmy could see a vista ofefficient-looking young men with paper protectors round theircuffs working away at mysterious jobs which seemed to involve theuse of a great deal of paper. One in particular was so surroundedby it that he had the appearance of a bather in surf. Jimmy eyedthese toilers with a comfortable and kindly eye. All thisindustry made him feel happy. He liked to think of this sort ofthing going on all round him.

　　The office-boy returned. "This way, please."The respectfulness of the lad's manner had increased noticeably.

　　Mr. Pett's reception of the visitor's name had impressed him. Itwas an odd fact that the financier, a cipher in his own home,could impress all sorts of people at the office.

　　To Mr. Pett, the announcement that Mr. James Crocker was waitingto see him had come like the announcement of a miracle. Not a dayhad passed since their return to America without lamentationsfrom Mrs. Pett on the subject of their failure to secure theyoung man's person. The occasion of Mrs. Pett's reading of thearticle in the _Sunday Chronicle_ descriptive of the Lord PercyWhipple affair had been unique in the little man's domestichistory. For the first time since he had known her theindomitable woman had completely broken down. Of all sad words oftongue or pen the saddest are these "It might have been!" and thethought that, if she had only happened to know it, she had had inher hands during that interview with her sister in London aweapon which would have turned defeat into triumph was more thaneven Mrs. Pett's strong spirit could endure. When she looked backon that scene and recalled the airy way in which Mrs. Crocker hadspoken of her step-son's "best friend, Lord Percy Whipple" andrealised that at that very moment Lord Percy had been recoveringin bed from the effects of his first meeting with Jimmy Crocker,the iron entered into her soul and she refused to be comforted.