George nodded, well pleased with himself, and was blithely happy as he took the train. He had never been outside the city of Detroit except for a few little daylight excursions. He had never ridden in a sleeping car. He was unfamiliar with just how one goes to a hotel and registers and deports oneself, but the morning of life was bright upon him. Not a doubt or a misgiving entered his mind. He was a bearer of good tidings to the world.
At the end of the fifth week he was back.
"Mr. Morris!" exclaimed George, all brakes off and unable to keep the exultant leap out of his voice. "I sold one hundred and two automobiles." He transferred a huge wallet of signed contracts from his pocket to the scarred and cluttered desk.
Mr. Morris's face, instead of joy, expressed consternation. His cheeks became ashen. "And contracted to deliver them?"
"Before June first."
"My Lord, boy! You have ruined us! Why, where on earth would I get the money to buy the material and pay the wages?"
"I've got part of it here," assured George most amazingly, and holding up a single contract he called attention to a pink slip with perforated edges attached. It was a draft for $333.33, one-third of the price of a Milton
