down."

There was a certain abrupt geniality about him. His
tortoise-rimmed glasses gave him an oddly owlish look, like a
small boy taking liberties with grandfather's spectacles.

Jock found himself sitting down, his anger slipping from him.

"My name's McChesney," he began. "I'm here because I want to work
for this concern." He braced himself to present the convincing,
reason-why arguments with which he had prepared himself.

Whereupon Sam Hupp, the brisk, proceeded to whisk his breath and
arguments away with an unexpected:

"All right. What do you want to do?"

Jock's mouth fell open. "Do!" he stammered. "Do! Why--anything--"

Sam Hupp's quick eye swept over the slim, attractive, radiant,
correctly-garbed young figure before him. Unconsciously he rubbed
his bald spot with a rueful hand.

"Know anything about writing, or advertising?"

Jock was at ease immediately. "Quite a lot; yes. I practically
rewrote the Gridiron play that we gave last year, and I was
assistant advertising manager of the college publications for
two years. That gives a fellow a pretty broad knowledge of
advertising."