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 looking years ahead, but I like to hear you say it. Tom Woods came to my house after he left here Saturday. He asked me to give you a message. He wants you to write him and let him know how things are going."

Bert wrote that afternoon.

At five o'clock Sam came back to the store, jubilant.

"It went over big," he reported. "I signed up five new ones. I landed an old friend of yours."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Busher."

Bert made a grimace.

"She put you on the fire," Sam continued, "and roasted you to a turn. She said you were an impertinent young whipper-snapper. I had a job smoothing her out and getting her subscription. She's got one of those high-and-mighty ways of talking that would get under anybody's skin; but when you're in business you've got to smile and give soft answers. You can't insult a person to