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 thousand dollars of new cash in its treasury. Milton Morris contemplated this delightful state of affairs without any special expression of wonder. He was getting used to miracles now.

"The next thing now is to go out and buy about fifty thousand dollars worth of ink," announced the Secretary-Treasurer complacently.

"Fifty thousand dollars for ink?" murmured Milton Morris dazedly and began to look for the joke.

"Printer's ink!" elaborated George, airily.

"Fifty thousand dollars for advertising?" Milton demanded in shocked tones. The equal of the value of the factory he had spent twenty years in building, good will and all, to be spattered over the country in a few weeks in one wild splash of printer's ink!

George saw the unbelief on the gray, slowthinking face, saw his stubborn unwillingness to consent to any such programme of extravagance, and understood it. He knew he had shocked him too much by the suddenness of his announcement, but George was accustomed to use the shock method in salesmanship. It was like dynamiting solid rock. It made shoveling easier afterward. And now he began to shovel.

"You keep thinking, Mr. Morris," he reminded the older man, "in terms of this little shop. Forget it and open your eyes wider!