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Lew Alban arrived in town at precisely the most effective and agreeable moment for himself. He did not make the mistake of hastening upon the heels of disaster; he gave the Rountrees time to feel the full force of it and to appreciate the calamity if they lost, at one stroke, the bulk of their remaining business.

Jay was on the street, selling or trying to sell, but he was gaining, chiefly, experience, and a point of view. He had made up a list of prospects, for his personal attention, compiled from golfers and from Harvard, Yale and Princeton people who had been, or who might by any chance become, customers; and in five weeks, he brought in one new order.

"Look at it," he bid Ellen, laying it upon her desk. "A wonderful order—two hundred dollars gross. We'll net maybe ten dollars."

"But it's a start with Howarth-Lyman," said Ellen. "We haven't sold them anything at all for eight years."

Jay nodded. "I squeezed that out through Ken Howarth. He was in the Yale boat; was with him in New London, once. You know I'd have starved, or have taken a job as a waiter in a restaurant, before I'd have gone to Ken Howarth to help me out with ten dollars, because I knew him rowing; but I went to him a couple of weeks ago on that introduction 'and to-night, because he knew me rowing, I have his order. That's business."