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 the working world was so vague and his qualifications for any position in it so uncertain that a decision was impossible. There was plenty of work to be had; that was evident from the number of advertisements of "Help Wanted—Male" in the morning papers. He had made secret notes of several possibilities: a business "concern" needed a man to manage a shop, "experience unnecessary," salary "to begin" $20 a week; a large wholesale firm needed a man of education to act as secretary, salary $25 a week; a dozen employment agencies on Sixth Avenue advertised, in chalk, on blackboards beside their doors, for household servants, clerks and stenographers, hotel help and private secretaries. He shrank from the personal servitude which most of these vacancies required; he hoped to find some man of large affairs, like his uncle, who needed an honest and faithful young deputy to attend to the minor details of business management which the head of the house might be unable to oversee personally. He was assured of one thing: no matter what his need, he would accept no position in which Margaret could be ashamed to find him.

All his thoughts of her had some such tinge of defensive bitterness. He would work out his own salvation, unassisted by the encouragement which he had hoped to have from her. He would see to it that she should have no cause to be glad of her desertion of him. He would work for her and wait for her, but he would never tell her so again.

"Well," Pittsey said, "let's see where we stand." He cleared a place on the table for the account book