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 to come to a small town. How much were they paying you there?"

"Twenty dollars."

"And you came here for fifteen dollars. Why?"

"I can live as well here on fifteen dollars as I could in the city on twenty. I figured that this would be a better place for advancement. In the city a clerk is a small potato. In the small town he can be a real person and grow with the town. What time do we open in the morning?"

"Quarter to eight."

"Would you mind giving me a key? I'll be around about seven o'clock. If you want to get ahead you've got to get an early start. I can have everything cleaned up for the day by opening time."

Mr. Quinby gave him a key to the front door. Monday morning he swept the floor, dusted the show cases, and swept the sidewalk. When Mr. Quinby arrived he was standing with alert attention behind the counter, business from the top of his carefully brushed hair to the soles of his feet.

"Were you in the habit of sweeping the sidewalk where you worked in the city?" Mr. Quinby asked.

"No, sir." Sam seemed surprised at the question. "But I read Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. He tells how he was not above wheeling his supplies through the street and so got a reputa-