I.

The office boy entered the room. Seth T. Grover, head of the department store that bore his name, was busy. The boy discreetly waited.

"Well?" the proprietor presently said.

The boy, a nervous youth, had a confused way of running his words together.

"Gentlemantoseeyousir," he said, and laid a card on his employer's desk. The head of the house took the pasteboard between a chubby thumb and forefinger and held it at some distance. JOHN HANCOCK BARKER ADMAN "Don't know him," he muttered. "What does he want?"

"I donnosir, buthesaysitsmostimportant."

"Adman?" growled the eminent tradesman. He glanced at the memoranda on his calendar pad and then looked at his watch.

"Show him in," he directed.

He stared at the card again and scornfully sniffed. As he tossed the object of his contempt aside, a stranger briskly entered. He was a man of medium height and slender build, with a long, flexible face, pale gray eyes and faded brown hair. He wore a light gray suit with a blue scarf; a blue ribbon encircled his sailor straw hat, and blue socks were visible above his tan oxfords. His age was thirty, but he looked older.

"Thanks for granting me this audience, Mr. Grover. You have my card. I'm John Hancock Barker."

He seized the unresisting hand of the magnate and shook it warmly. Mr. Grover met this assault with a frown of disapproval. As soon as he could release his hand he drew his fat, gold watch from its snug retreat in his white waistcoat.

"I'm a ---" he began in his heavy way.

"A busy man," interrupted the visitor. Then he laughingly added, "I'll excuse the bromide. The fact that it's conventional doesn't diminish its value. No man living appreciates the conservation of time any better than I do."

He laid his straw hat on the sacred Grover desk and drew up a chair.

Mr. Grover viewed these cool proceedings with manifest indignation.

"Kindly state your business, sir," he said irritably.

The stranger lightly rubbed his hands together. Then with a peculiar motion he flipped back the left lapel of his coat and thrust his thumb into the armhole of his vest.

"My motto, sir," he briskly said, "is condense and conserve, you have my card. You know my name. Perhaps you think you know my business. But do you?"

"No, I don't," replied the goaded proprietor, "and I begin to think I never will."

"There you are wrong, sir," returned the unabashed visitor. "My card tells you I'm an adman. Technically, that's correct. In practice, I am more --- much more."

The veteran tradesman drew a long breath.

"How much more?" he demanded.

The visitor overlooked the sarcasm.

"I'm an adman --- that's right. But I am also a commercial expert, a consulting trade authority, and a past master in the art of publicity. I build up, I increase, I expand.

"I thought you said you were a condenser?" put in the magnate.

"You did not misunderstand my statement. With me, condensed efforts bring expanded results. I seek out unsuspected weaknesses and convert them into sinews of strength. Yours is a conservative house, sir. You have no sympathy for modern methods of trade expansion. You prefer the beaten track --- narrow though it be --- of commercial safety, to the broad highway of glittering publicity."

"I'm satisfied," interrupted the proprietor.

"That's it, that's it," cried the visitor, "you're satisfied. That's the root of the trouble."

"What trouble?" snapped the veteran.

"Conservativitis," glibly replied the visitor. "It's the malady that causes you to adhere to the old methods while your up-to-date-and-a-little-ahead-of-it competitors are shaking the shekel tree. What your house needs is the ginger cure."

"The ginger cure?"

"Yes. Vigor, energy and push! Say, who writes your advertising?"

The veteran hesitated.

"The head of our silk department, Mr. Livingston --- with my assistance."

The visitor nodded. "Just as I supposed," he smilingly said. "Have you never thought of engaging a man who could write real advertising?"

"The house of The Seth T. Grover Co. needs no artificial booming," cried the indignant proprietor. "It was founded by my father, sir, and I am adhering to the honorable and conservative principles he laid down.

"Very commendable, indeed," said the visitor, "but not according to the later rules of the game. Now suppose a man came to you and said, 'Sir, put me in charge of your publicity. Test my methods, probe my theories,' and suppose that man said to you, 'I will agree to add 50% to the business of any department you offer as a test of my ability and integrity, and I further agree to increase the gross sales of your house 25% in three months.' What would you say to that, sir?"

"Nonsense!"

"But that isn't a fair answer."

"Where's the man?"

"Here."

John Hancock Barker smiled and again flipped back his coat lapel.

There was a brief silence. The old merchant drew down his heavy eyebrows.

"You interest me in spite of my better judgment," he presently said. Just drop that highfalutin' style of yours and come down to brass tack and business. What's your scheme?"

The visitor leaned forward.

"I object to your use of the word scheme," he said. "I am engaged in a legitimate calling. The adman, sir, has come to be recognized as a business factor second only in importance to the managerial head. I offer to increase your business in every department. In order to show my confidence in my own methods, I will accept as my emolument 3% of the amount of your increased sales during a test period.

Seth T. Grover gravely nodded.

"You have references, of course?"

"Of course not," the visitor promptly replied. "And a moment's reflection will explain to you why not. Think it over. Would it please you to have me go from here to Scott & McTavish, for instance, with a reference from you acknowledging that I personally increased your sales 60%?"

"No," admitted the old man; "you'll get no such reference from me."

The visitor softly laughed.

"That's just what they told me at --- but there, it's a matter of confidence. An adman is a confidential specialist. You don't want recommendations. You want results.

There was something about the manner of the visitor, his enthusiasm, his optimism, that warmed the heart of the old merchant.

"You talk well, my young friend," he said.

"I have found it necessary to talk more than usual," the visitor remarked with a quick smile. "And I think you'll admit the fault is not all mine.

"Well," said the veteran slowly, "there is at least one thing you neglected to explain. Why did you come to me?"

The stranger's reply was promptly given.

"Because I knew you needed me."

"How could you know that?" the merchant demanded.

The visitor drew a folded newspaper from his side pocket; "Then I'm going to answer you sir, with an illustration." He smoothed out the paper, took a blue pencil from his pocket and drew a heavy ring on the page before him. There's your 'Rompers Ad' of this morning. Look at it."

CHILDREN'S ROMPERS

We are pleased to announce that we have succeeded in securing, from a well-known Eastern manufacturer, a large supply of children's rompers. Goods of the grade we obtained usually retail at 50¢. Because of the bargain price at which we were enabled to secure them, we are gratified at the opportunity afforded us, to offer them at 35¢ each or one dollar for three pairs. The large shipment we secured includes blue ginghams, plain pink and tan chambrays, some with stripes and crossbars and others of light and dark materials. The sizes are from one to eight years. All of the rompers are piped on the belt and neck, and are exceptionally well made. Owing to the low price we have quoted above, the sale can be continued for one week only. We believe our patrons will be pleased to take advantage of this opportunity.

3rd floor

THE SETH T. GROVER CO.

The proprietor intently regarded the marked advertisement.

"What's wrong with it?" he presently asked.

The visitor drew back and smiled tolerantly.

"Why, to read that ad one would think 'rompers' were as serious in their way as clerical investments. You couldn't have expressed that bid for buyers with more gravity if you were selling granite headstones. What is a 'romper'? It's a garment worn by a child of tender years, a blithe and frolicsome household delight. It suggests sunny hours and dancing feet and cunning poses. It is purchased by a doting mother for the little treasure at home.

"The ad should catch the mother's eye. It should interest her first. It should awake her desire in the second place. It should sell three rompers when she was in the market for only one. Would this ad do it?" He struck the page with his clenched hand.

The old merchant coughed defensively. "That advertisement, sir, is a truthful statement of the bare facts."

The visitor smiled. "Exactly so, but the facts, like the kids, must be clothed to be attractive. If you want to sell rompers you must put romp into your ads."

He pushed the offending advertisement aside and leaning back in his chair, awaited the effect of his axiom.

The veteran nodded.

"Perhaps you can show me just what you mean by that?"

"I can." Barker drew a sheet of paper from the owner's desk and with an ink pen rapidly wrote the following ad:

ROMPERS

· Let the children romp!

· Make the little ones happy!

· Don't dress 'em up all the time!

· Don't warn them continuously to be careful of their clothes!

· Put them in rompers in the morning. Let them make mud pies, play tag, feed the chickens and be real-for-sure kids --- just as we used to be.

· Whether they're one-year-olds or eight-year-olds, we can provide them with the best made and the most attractive romping suits you ever saw.

· Are the prices reasonable? 35¢ --- 3 for $1. The regular 50¢ stock, too. Think of that!

· Blue, pink, or tan, both large and small; Dots, stripes or plain --- we have 'em all!

Let the little fellows romp,

Roll the hoop and throw the ball,

Every lad so neatly clad ---

We have rompers for them all!
The Seth T. Grover Co.
Children's Department - 3rd Floor

Seth T. Grover watched the process with an expression of keen interest. He picked up the sheet that the visitor pushed towards him and carefully read it over.

"Not bad," he muttered.

The visitor looked at him expectantly. "Well," he said, "it's up to you."

The veteran tradesman evidently understood the colloquialism.

"I'll give you a trial," he said. "The terms will be those suggested by you, and the length of the test will be governed by circumstances. One thing more. This agreement is strictly between ourselves."

The stranger nodded. Then he arose and offered the old merchant his hand.

"Here's to our mutual betterment," he said and shook the veteran's hand warmly. "And now, if agreeable, I'll look your establishment over." He took his hat. "Expect my report a little later."

He left the room briskly, and when the door had closed the old man picked up the sample advertisement. He read it through carefully while a slow smile spread over his wrinkled face. Then he resumed the work that the visitor had interrupted.

Fifteen minutes later there was a quick rap at the door. "Come in," said Seth T. Grover.

The door opened and Mary Burns, the store detective, entered with John Hancock Barker.

"What does this mean?" the old merchant demanded.

"As well as I can make out," replied the new employee, "the lady has pinched me."

The detective's face suddenly flushed as she turned to her employer.

"This man first attracted my attention in the hosiery department," she explained. "He disarranged the goods in it."

"You have no actual proof against this suspicious character."

"No, sir," replied the detective. "But his actions led me to look upon him as a bad man."

"Pardon me," said the new employee, "you are just a little out of the way. Not a bad man, but an adman!"

II.

It was ten o'clock the next morning when Seth T. Grover arrived at his store. That was two hours and a half later than normal. Repairs to his automobile had cause the delay, and the tardiness irritated the veteran tradesman whose punctuality was one of his marked characteristics.

As the Grover limousine drew up to the curb, the carriageman touched his hat and opened the door. The old merchant stared at him. The casual passerby would not have found occasion for so intent a scrutiny, but the casual passerby hadn't seen the same carriageman for sixteen years garbed in a dark green livery with somber hat and gloves. It was the effect of a while flannel uniform with brass buttons and a jaunty manner which harmonized naturally with the nattier costume, that caught the proprietor's attention. The employee knew he was being studied, and his smile testified to personal approval of his modified appearance.

"Mawnin', Mistah Grovah," he said with a sweeping bow.

"Morning, George," said the old merchant brusquely, and he passed into the store, leaving unsolved for the time being the question of the new livery. He walked in his deliberate military manner down the center aisle and paused at the store bulletin board before taking the elevator.

One notice immediately caught his eye, because it was printed in colors and seemed to stand out glaringly from its more quiet companions. It read:

NOTICE TO EMPLOYEES

The Seth T. Grover Co. Band is to be organized tonight.

Let us have the best concert band among the commercial houses in the city.

Mr. Grover will furnish the uniforms.

All who play band instruments are requested to meet in the Assembly Room tonight.

Frederick Bissell
Alfred McColl
August Muelhauser

The merchant scowled. It was clear that he disapproved. But Seth T. Grover had always made it a point to conceal his anger before his employees.

When he left the elevator he noticed the sound of hammering in the direction of his office, and a moment later, as he stepped over the threshold, he saw two men fastening push-buttons to a board on the wall near his desk, while a third man was gathering a coil of wire and tools from the floor. In the center of the room stood the director of the work --- John Hancock Barker, adman.

"That's satisfactory," he was just saying. "Gather up your tools and material and clear out quickly before the boss comes down." He turned as he heard a footstep at the threshold and beheld his employer. He noted, too, that the latter was regarding the proceedings with undisguised displeasure.

Morning, Mr. Grover," said the new employee cheerily. "It's lucky you were late."

"I'm not so sure of that," grumbled the merchant.

The trio of workmen hurried out.

"I want to talk with you, Mr. ---

"Barker, sir, John Hancock Barker."

"But first you may go the second floor and tell Mr. Norris, the bookkeeper, I want to see him," the merchant continued.

He stepped aside to allow the new employee to pass through the doorway but the latter turned to the wall near the Grover desk.

"Number two is for Mr. Norris, sir," he said as he pressed the button. "I'll have the names typewritten and pasted over the signals by noon, so that you will know the calls for the different heads of departments."

"Who told you to put that arrangement in here, sir?" the indignant employer demanded.

"You did. That is, you told me I might make changes to improve the business. Ah, here comes Mr. Norris already. You see, we have saved the time I would have taken in going down in the elevator and we have Norris here in just half the time that would have been consumed by my going and his coming."

Norris, a little man and very bald, entered the office and bowed respectfully to his employer, who abruptly addressed him.

"Norris."

"Yes, sir."

"Some directions."

"Very well, sir."

"Norris, I want you to make a statement each morning of the aggregate of the previous day's sales. Commencing today. That's all."

"Yes, sir."

The little bookkeeper again bowed respectfully and left the room.

The tradesman stared hard at his new employee.

"Barker, you are to consult me about any radical changes before going ahead with them. You must not overstep your rights. I noticed several changes this morning that I have not sanctioned --- and don't believe I can approve." He turned in his chair abruptly and his manner was intended to convince the new employee that just now silence was the best policy.

The morning mail was standing in a pile on the massive desk and a neatly printed slip surmounted the letters.

Picking it up the veteran tradesman read as follows:

The Seth T. Grover Co.
No. 1

TEMPER

Get mad! And---
If you are fat, you will lose your breath.
If you are an athlete, you will lose your game.
If you are a lecturer, you will lose your audience.
No matter what you are, you will lose something.
A temper is a splendid thing --- under control.
Keep it under --- quite a ways under.
Once a shopper seemed so unreasonable that the clerk lost her temper.
Then she lost her customer, and, the proprietor hearing of it,
She lost her position, and, thinking how foolish she had been,
She lost her self-respect.
Then she reasoned it all out and found that you can't lose your temper without losing something else.
But if you have a temper, how can you keep it from showing itself?

Recipe: Good nature and will power

"Is that your getting up?" he asked over his shoulder when he had finished reading.

"Yes, sir," replied the new employee. "Just a little thing to scatter among the clerks. You see ---"

"I can't see how it will help sell goods," said the veteran tradesman. "I didn't hire you to entertain my employees. I got you to increase sales of this store. And what do you do? Was it you who put my carriageman in white livery?"

"I admit it," came the prompt answer. "You will pardon me if I say that he was shockingly shabby in that old green suit and you'll grant, I'm sure, that he is classier --- I should say more attractive --- than before."

"But that has nothing to do with increasing sales," objected the old merchant.

"Not directly, sir, but indirectly, yes," came the quick response. "Men, as a rule, don't notice such things, but when an electric coupe draws up before a store and a lady in faultless white emerges, the better the style of reception she meets, the better the impression she receives, the better the chances for her becoming a regular customer. I tell you, sir, that our new livery is making an indirect bid for new trade."

The merchant's expression did not admit that he was more than half convinced.

"You are responsible for the band business, too, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," replied the new employee proudly, "this is primarily intended to stimulate the right sort of spirit among the employees. Secondarily, it will be a mighty good advertisement for the store. I have placed the organization in the hands of three of the most popular young men in the establishment. Tonight the first meeting will be held in the assembly room---"

"We have no assembly room," interrupted his employer.

I was going to speak to you about that later," said the younger man. "For the next week or so we will have to make the stock room on the fifth floor answer our purpose. Getting the young men together will promote good fellowship among them, will awaken a stronger feeling of loyalty towards the store, and should influence them to perform their duties in a more willing and optimistic manner. It will be easy for the band to secure a number of engagements that will pay them for their time, and every concert is an ad for The Seth T. Grover So. Why ---"

The old man stopped him.

"What about this signals you have installed here? Why did you go ahead without authority?"

"To avoid bothering you, sir," was the blithe answer. "Your time is too valuable to be taken up with suggestions and requests when I am sure you will approve. This board of buttons is what I call the 'pulse of the store.' You press one of these and the head of the department wanted will report at once; press the same button twice and the head will call you on this private phone, instead of coming here personally. Press it three times --- but there, I'll write it out so you'll have it conveniently before you. And this button --- I'll explain it later. It's the detective signal, and if any pickpocket or sneak thief gets away, from this time on, I miss my guess. May I ask you to come down to the automobile department when you finish your mail? I will have something ready there by that time to show you."

The reference to the mail reminded Seth T. Grover that he was not making up the time he lost at the opening of the day, and he dismissed the new employee from the room with a mumbled assent to his invitation.

Then he turned to his letters.

John Hancock Barker stopped at the door.

"For your stenographer, push the first button on the left hand side," he said and disappeared.

And, following his direction, the proprietor, for the first time, felt the pulse of the store.

A few minutes later John Hancock Barker was busily directing the erection of a peculiar framework in the automobile department. While he was thus employed, Mary Burns, the store detective approached and acknowledged his bow.

"Not going to run me in again, are you?" he laughingly asked.

"Not without actual proof against you," she replied as color came into her cheeks. "But, I really think you need someone to look after you," she merrily added.

"Referring to the fact that I am a bachelor?" he chuckled. Then he noticed that the deeper color in Miss Burns' cheeks became her very well. It was after noon when Mr. Grover confronted his confidential publicity man in the automobile department.

"You have something you want me to look at," he said.

"Quite right, sir," replied the new employee. "Just step over here, please. I have a device that I believe will help sell that big consignment of tires that came last week. Just watch the people passing that framework holding the automobile wheel. Do you notice that every passer gives the wheel a turn? Human nature makes it impossible to resist the temptation to whirl it. It's the same impulse that makes everyone want to touch the article labeled 'Fresh Paint' to see if the paint really is fresh. Then that little motto on the framework: 'One good turn deserves another,' also encourages them. Well, all this attracts attention to the tires we want to sell. You will notice, too, that there is a speedometer attached. That encourages people to turn the wheel faster to watch the dial record the speed --- and it also advertises the speedometer. By this simple method, we are getting the direct interest of many prospective buyers."

The old merchant showed that he doubted the practicality of the plan and the inventor of the scheme, excusing himself, stepped over to the framework and with pencil and notebook recorded the speedometer reading. Then he made a hasty calculation.

"At the present rate, the wheel will turn more than fourteen thousand times an hour. As it is a 36-inch wheel, this means it will run more than eight miles an hour, or nearly eighty miles during a store day."

"I'd like to see the practical result," said the unimpressed proprietor.

"The report on increased sales will show them inside of a week," promised the adman. "I can direct your attention to a few now, however. Will you kindly accompany me to the basement?"

The two presently found themselves in the hardware department. The merchant noticed that a large audience was watching the demonstration of a dishwashing device and a sewing machine. The younger man nodded towards these swiftly running pieces of household machinery.

"You may remember," he said, "that one of my hobbies is the conservation of energy."

The old tradesman stopped him and pointed at the slender belts that were turning the two machines.

"What is the power that is running those affairs?" he asked.

John Hancock Barker smiled.

"The people upstairs who are idly turning the wheel," he replied.

Seth T. Grover very nearly smiled himself.

The inspection stopped, however, as the office boy announced that Mr. Livingstone was waiting in the private office with the advertising copy for the next day. As the proprietor started for the elevator, the publicity man placed a folded paper in his hands. "A suggestion for an ad," he said.

Mr. Livingstone was a very quiet man with a manner so highly polished that it shone and a voice that was an octave above the ordinary requirements. Now it was plainly evident that he was both disturbed and aggrieved.

His employer noted these conditions and invited an explanation with an inquiring, "Well?"

"Here is my copy for tomorrow, Mr. Grover," he said, laying a large sheet of closely written matter on the desk. "Did you see this morning's paper, sir?" he quaveringly asked.

"Yes."

"Our ad?"

"I glanced at it."

"Well, I'm almost sure you couldn't have seen this!" he shrilly cried, as he laid the romper ad of the new publicity man before the proprietor. "Someone must have done that as a joke, sir, as a joke. I assure you, it isn't my copy. It's a disgrace to the house, sir and to all its traditions."

The old merchant stared hard at the advertisement. His fears were confirmed. The glib talk of the stranger had deceived him. Conservative methods were best. Livingstone was right.

"The idea of a rhyme in the advertisement of The Seth T. Grover Co., and flippant expressions like these!" cried the outraged employee, shaking the newspaper. "If it isn't all slang, it's the next thing to it. And do you suppose, sir, that such methods will increase the business of a house that has steadily risen from a rock foundation that was laid nearly forty years ago? No sir!? His shrill voice rose still higher as he reached the concluding words. Then he caught his breath and triumphantly added, "It wouldn't mean an extra sale, sir, nor an extra penny!"

There was a moment's silence.

At this melodramatic moment Mr. Stimpson, the head of the children's clothing department, started to enter the office, but noting that the proprietor was occupied, drew back.

"Come in, Stimpson," called the veteran tradesman.

The head of the children's department came forward.

"One moment, Livingstone," said the proprietor. "What is it, Stimpson?"

"I just wanted to report, sir, that there's been such a demand for those rompers that we'll be out of them before the day is over."

Stimpson, his message delivered, turned and left the room.

A smile crept over Seth T. Grover's countenance as his gaze left the departing Stimpson and returned to the uncomfortable Livingstone. His expression indicated that he was ready to resume the conversation.

For a moment Livingstone acted as if about to speak. Then he hastily followed Stimpson.

The veteran tradesman leaned back in his chair, brought his right hand down with a resounding whack upon his knee and enjoyed a laugh that made the "pulse of the store" throb in its cloistered cabinet.

III.

Seth T. Grover left town the next day. Before going he had a conference with John Wilkinson, the veteran superintendent, in whose charge he left the managerial responsibility.

Wilkinson was conservative, trustworthy and eminently loyal, and he was the only attaché of the store force who enjoyed his employer's business confidence. He, alone, was permitted to see the telegram that called Mr. Grover to New York, the telegram that threatened to bring a change to the old established house of The Seth T. Grover Co. A closely related store in the metropolis had just experienced financial difficulties, and the veteran merchant decided to leave immediately in order that he might investigate at first hand the true depth of the trouble. He confided in Wilkinson that The Seth T. Grover was not paying its usual dividends since the building up of its two pretentious rivals. He intimated that if he could find a prospective purchaser in New York he would bring him back in the hope of selling out the business to which he had given nearly forty years of constant and devoted labor.

"It's bad news, sir, that you feel that way," said John Wilkinson, in the hope of cheering his employer. "You wont' think of selling out when you've had more time to consider."

"I don't want to sell, Wilkinson, but the fact is we are at a standstill here, and I'm afraid I'll have no choice. You may expect me back in two weeks. Don't let that new man go too far with his schemes and wire me if you need my presence. Miss Skinner will help you with the general correspondence. I guess that's all. Goodbye, Wilkinson."

A few minutes later, the veteran merchant, without the slightest outward sign of mental depression, hurried away.

Two weeks passed and Mr. Grover reappeared, accompanied by a small, shrewd-looking man of fifty, chiefly distinguished by his heavy-weight watch chain and the brilliance of his scarf pin.

"Look around the store," said the proprietor, "and we'll talk things over this afternoon."

The two parted and the merchant retired to his private office. His trip had evidently not been an agreeable one and his mood was plainly irritable. He glanced hastily through the papers on his desk, asked a few questions of his stenographer and gave directions to have Wilkinson, who was away on a business errand, report to him when he returned. The he bent over his desk and picked up a large volume that he had not noticed before.

"Scrap Book of The Seth T. Grover Co." was neatly printed in gold on the heavy cover.

"Did anybody ever hear of a store scrap book!" he muttered. He turned to his stenographer. "Whose doing is this?" "It's Mr. Barker's idea," said the frightened young woman.

"Um, I thought so, the employer growled. He opened the book.

Advertisements neatly clipped and pasted, occupied the left hand pages while comments were typewritten on the opposite pages. Here and there were circulars and other literature issued by the store with occasional clippings from the news columns of the local papers. Turning the pages over rapidly, the proprietor's eye caught certain large headlines and he paused to read the following:

PLAYROOM PLEASES
COUNTLESS CHILDREN

THE SETH T. GROVER MAKES A
DECIDED HIT WITH THE LITTLE FOLKS

NOVEL UNDERTAKING OF
ENTERPRISING HOUSE ATTRACTS
WIDESPREAD ATTENTION

The conservative merchant could read no further. He was angry now and didn't care who knew it. Closing the big book with a slam he turned to his stenographer.

"Where is this fool kindergarten business --- this playroom?" he hotly demanded.

"On --- on the top floor sir," came the frightened response.

Out of the office, into the elevator, up to the top floor, and Seth T. Grover, perspiring from mental rather than physical exercise, was at the entrance to the new playroom. He paused at the double doorway and looked in.

Children, lots of them from little tots to ten-year-olds, were playing strenuously, but not roughly, on a variety of interesting pieces of apparatus. Ordinary gymnasium paraphernalia, including dumb-bells, horizontal and parallel bars and flying rings, filled one end of the room, while two steep and lengthy slides of unique appearance slanted from one corner of the high ceiling to a distant point on the floor. Children were lined up at these chutes, awaiting their turns to slide either in a sitting position on the other. Sheldon Thomas, of the toy department, a gentlemanly fellow and an amateur athlete of some note, was in charge, and everything seemed to be conducted in an orderly and practical manner. The room echoed with continuous laughter, but the merriment was not reflected in the face of the displease proprietor. His glances traveled around the sides of the room where long rows of seats were occupied by estimable appearing women, who watched with manifest approval their charges combining exercise with pleasure at the expense of The Seth T. Grover Co. The veteran observed the walls of the spacious room. He was first attracted by a large sign in a gilt frame. It read:

AFTER EXERCISING
TRY A GROVER DIP

DRUG DEPT. FIRST FLOOR

Then he read several other signs arranged on either side of the room:

HAVE THE BOYS WEAR
TEARPROOF PANTS
THE DOUBLE SEAT
CANNOT BE BEAT!

CHILDREN'S CLOTHING --- 3RD FLOOR

CHILDREN LIKE OUR
WEARWELL WAISTS
NO MATTER WHAT THEY ARE ABOUT
THEY'LL FIND IT HARD TO
WEAR THEM OUT.

3rd FLOOR

WHEN THROUGH EXERCISING
RUB YOURSELF WITH LIMBERINE
ALTHOUGH SO TIRED YOU
THINK YOU'LL DIE,
OUR LIMBERINE WILL MAKE YOU SPRY!

DRUG DEPT. FIRST FLOOR

BUY
LASTGOOD SHOES
FOR THE CHILDREN
BLESS THEIR LITTLE SOLES!

SHOES DEPT. 2ND FLOOR

Seth T. Grover could stand this display no longer. He turned away from the "fool kindergarten business" just in time to meet the party who was responsible for it, accompanied by the store detective. Mary Burns passed quietly along and the adman stopped.

"Glad to see you back," was the greeting accorded by John Hancock Barker. "We've been doing things since you went away."

"I see you have," growled the old merchant with a tragic emphasis, "and I want you to come with me at once to my office."

They were soon closeted together, and the veteran merchant turned upon the younger man with an unpleasant scowl.

"Well, sir," he bitingly said, "I see you have taken advantage of my absence to do thing that you know I never would have sanctioned. You have presumed too far, Mr. Barker, much too far. Do you understand, sir?"

"One moment, Mr. Grover," replied the younger man unabashed. "I refuse to be judged guilty of any offenses, sir, until I have had a hearing."

"The only thing I can't understand," went on the proprietor, ignoring the other's protest, "is why John Wilkinson didn't interfere. I left him in charge and he must be prepared to answer for these fool innovations."

"May I ask," interrogated Mr. Barker, "what style fool innovations?"

"Yes, you may," grimly replied the old merchant, "and I will ask you to explain how you dared to introduce them. In the first place when I came up from the station last night, what did I see in front of this store, sir? A great, gaudy, glaring electric sign, with an outline of changing color that looked like a valentine. Why, it was the first thing I saw when I reached the street seven blocks away. I'd like to know what good that sign is, sir? Why, it's only lighted when the store is closed!"

"Investigation has proved, Mr. Grover," began the younger man, but he was again interrupted.

"I don't care what investigation has proved," the proprietor continued. "I dare say that the sign and those extra lights you put in the windows cost as much as three hundred dollars."

"Five hundred, sir," said the adman, "and I contend ---"

Once more the veteran interrupted.

"You're always contending and predicting and prophesying, buy where are your results, sir? I didn't hire you to contend --- I engaged you to increase sales. What do I find when I come home? A playroom to entertain children at my expense. This is a department store, young man, not a ding-blistered kindergarten!"

The old merchant paused. He had worked himself up to a point where his wind was short and his face was flushed.

"You don't understand," said the unabashed Barker.

The old man gradually recovered his breath.

"There are a lot of things I don't understand," he shouted. "I don't understand the meaning of a 'Grover dip' for one thing. Perhaps you could explain that."

The adman couldn't repress a smile.

"A Grover dip," he said, "is the most popular dish we serve at the soda fountain."

"We have no soda fountain," roared the proprietor.

"We had no soda fountain," corrected the younger man, "be we have now."

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" shouted the merchant.

In came John Wilkinson, carefully closing the door behind him. He was about to greet his employer, whom he had not seen for two weeks, but Mr. Grover's expression warned him not to do so.

The old tradesman stared sternly into the superintendent's mild face.

"You're just the man I want to see, Wilkinson," he said.

The superintendent looked from the face of his employer to that of the adman, and guessed that there had been words. But noting that the younger man was not affected, he took courage and looked back at his employer. Unlike his usual habit, he received the old merchant's accusing stare without wincing.

"There have been changes made here in my absence, Wilkinson," said the veteran tradesman.

"Yes, sir," agreed the superintendent.

"Were they made with your knowledge?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"With your approval?"

Wilkinson again turned to Barker. He seemed to gather more courage from the adman's countenance, and responded with a "Yes, sir" of surprising firmness.

The old man glared at him.

"Wilkinson," he said, "do you mean to tell me that after working here all these years you have suddenly come to believe in gaudy signs and crackbrained kindergarten schemes?"

"Mr. Grover," began the quiet Wilkinson, "it's true. I do believe in modern methods. I'll admit I didn't appreciate them a few weeks ago, but I have been brought up on conservatism. I talked with this young man and got new ideas and he persuaded me to try them."

Mr. Grover turned his glare full upon the unmoved Barker.

"Don't place the blame on him, sir," Wilkinson went on. "I am responsible. You left me in charge and I put these changes, these improvements, for they are improvements, into effect. This store, sir, had got into a rut. It had been running on the same plans it used a score of years ago. That's why Scott & McTavish and the Moulton Co. challenged us, caught up with us and threatened to distance us. What we needed, sir --- I beg your pardon --- what I thought we needed, were new ideas. This young man furnished them --- I approved them. And ---"

Seth T. Grover held up his hand. John Wilkinson stopped short after the longest verbal effort of his career.

"That's enough from you, Wilkinson," said the old merchant harshly. "I'll have reports from the heads of departments. I want you both to remain here while they are being given. Wilkinson, call Stimpson of the children's clothing department.

"Pardon me but 'number four' will summon Stimpson," said Barker, as he indicated the "pulse of the store." The proprietor had forgotten this device, and prejudiced for the time against all innovations turned, half unwillingly, to press the button.

There was silence until the arrival of the head of the children's clothing department. When Stimpson entered he came to the center of the room, but his employer's frown drove him back a step or two.

"I have been out of the city for two weeks, Stimpson," began the old merchant.

"Yes, sir," said the frightened employee.

"How about the sales in your department during this time?"

"Great!" he exclaimed.

His employer looked puzzled. Wilkinson and Barker exchanged furtive smiles.

"Ah," said the proprietor, "it's the natural increase owing to the new Fall stock, no doubt."

"No, sir," replied the department head, "although the Fall goods are starting nicely. It is general improvement. We have especially strong demand for 'Tearproof pants," 'Wearwell waists,' and rompers and other articles of clothing to take the place of the garments the children wear out upstairs in the playroom. It's really wonderful, Mr. Grover, how that slide does wear out pants. And then ---"

"That'll do, Stimpson," interrupted the proprietor as he pressed "number three" on the "pulse of the store." In a few minutes Stimpson gave way to Cadbury, head of the shoe department. The proprietor's glare had softened somewhat.

"How about the sales in your department since I went away, Cadberry?" he asked.

"Splendid, sir," was the prompt answer.

"Due to the announcement of the Fall stock?" queried the veteran merchant.

"In part, yes," replied the shoe department head. "I find, however, sir, that the children, while romping in that playroom on the eighth floor, go through their footwear with remarkable alacrity. The soles cannot long withstand the friction cause by descending that sandy slide, and the games the children play work havoc with the seams. I find, too, that many of those who accompany the children desire shoes for themselves and, as I have often contended ---"

"That will suffice, thank you, Cadberry," said the old merchant, astonished, but not satisfied. He rang "number six" and Miss Kearney, head of the lace department, soon ended the silence that followed Cadberry's departure.

"How are sales?" abruptly inquired her employer.

"Bully --- I beg your pardon, sir, they're fine," responded the somewhat effusive young person.

"How do you account for the improvement?" asked the merchant.

"Well, I think those little jingles and the pretty pictures to go with them in our ads help a lot. Then, there are so many more people coming into the store nowadays than used to come. I don't suppose I should say it, but I think that the story about me in the Times, where they used my picture as the prettiest clerk in the city, helped my department some. I wonder who wrote that interview anyway?"

The proprietor looked at Barker, but the adman was apparently busy reading his notebook. "That's all, thank you, Miss Kearney," he said, and she walked from the room with much clicking of high heels.

Seth T. Grover looked from Barker to Wilkinson and back again.

"I won't call any of the other just now," he said.

"I'm sorry you omitted the report from the new soda fountain," said Barker. "It's only been fizzing eleven days, but the business is something remarkable."

"Mr. Grover, would you rather hear your report on the number of visitors?" put in Wilkinson.

The adman referred to his notebook.

"The second day after I came here," he said, "I had the number of people who entered the three big department stores counted. Scott & McTavish led with 2,897; Moulton's was second with 2,114, and the Seth T. Grover Co. was last with 1,472. Yesterday we took another count. Moulton's had 2,027, Scott & McTavish 2,417, and we registered 3,504." He paused. "Of course, it wasn't exactly fair to count 'em yesterday, as that was our concert day."

"Concert day?" repeated Mr. Grover.

"Yes," said Wilkinson. "We added a music department while you were away, and have weekly recitals to which we invite about a thousand of our patrons. We can seat that many now in the assembly room."

"Assembly room?" muttered the old merchant.

"Yes," said Barker. "Don't you remember I spoke to you about locating it in the stock room on the fifth floor? We not only have recitals there, but employees' entertainments that make the clerks feel a much greater sympathy for the store. And it's working wonders. Scott & McTavish tried to take away two of our people yesterday at better money. Did they get them? Well, I guess nary-nary.

The adman drew a printed card from his pocket and handed it to the merchant.

"There's next month's schedule of talks to be given to the employees," he said, "and you'll notice I took the liberty of putting you down for Thursday, the nineteenth. We had Norman Montgomery, the social settlement expert, you know, night before last, and he made a hit for fair. Used pictures, and you should have seen the way our clerks ate up his talk. It did them good, too. The Mayor is down for next week."

It was Wilkinson's turn.

"Tell him about the band," he said to Barker with a sly grin --- and Wilkinson was not given to grinning.

"Band?" echoed the old man.

"Yes," said the adman, "you remember the band we started the second day after I came. There ain't much to tell yet, but the band is going to be a winner. Thirty-two pieces now and four rehearsals a week. They'll be ready, all right, for the anniversary.

Seth T. Grover looked up. "What anniversary?"

Wilkinson smiled as Barker replied.

"Why, the anniversary of the business, sir. The house is forty years old a week from next Friday, and we thought there ought to be some sort of celebrating on an occasion like that."

There was a rap at the door.

"Come in!" said the proprietor.

The shrewd-looking man, who had accompanied him in the morning, entered the room.

"Well, I've looked around and am satisfied," he said. "What are your terms?"

The old merchant suddenly smiled.

"The house is not for sale," he said.

IV.

It was the morning following the fortieth anniversary of The Seth T. Grover Co. The founder of that house was seated at his desk reading page 221 of the store scrapbook for that page contained the story of the anniversary as told in the morning papers.

Miss Skinner entered with a fat stack of letters and laid them gently on the Grover desk.

"More congratulations?" her employer asked.

Miss Skinner smiled and nodded.

"Bless me," the veteran exclaimed as he looked at the top letter. "This is from way out on the coast! Barnes & Telfer, San Francisco. How in blazes did they know we were celebrating our fortieth anniversary? And here's good wishes from New Orleans and Portland, Maine and more from New York. What gets me is, how they learned about it."

Miss Skinner smiled again.

"Mr. Barker had some announcements engraved," she said, "and he told me to send them to the representative department stores and to other houses with which we do business. He said you were so modest you might object, so he attended to it himself. And here is the copy of the story of the anniversary sent out by the Associated Press at Mr. Barker's suggestion. It will appear today in papers all over the country, he says."

While the pleased proprietor of the forty-year-old house was reading his congratulatory mail, John Hancock Barker was staring at a long epistle spread out before him.

"They want me now," he murmured.

He folded the letter and placed it with other papers in one compartment of his spacious pocketbook. Then he noticed the store detective passing his door and called her in.

"Miss Burns," he said, "have you ever noticed that I always call you Miss Burns during office hours and Mary afterwards?" The young woman smiled and flushed. "I fancied you had noticed it, Mary."

"It is during office hours now," she said demurely.

He laughed softly.

"Very well, Miss Burns," he said. "I really have something important to say to you. It has to do with a letter than hangs out a 'welcome sign' for me in Chicago."

It is one of the requirements of the detective business that no change of countenance should betray the thoughts of the detective. And yet, Mr. Barker noted that his announcement drove the color from the cheeks of Mary Burns.

"It's a fine opportunity," he went on, "one that I've been waiting for, and ---"

She interrupted him.

"What will Mr. Grover do?" she asked.

Barker laughed. "Oh, he and the store will get along all right without me. I've planned that. What I have in mind just now is the safeguarding department. I was immensely taken with that department the very day I arrived here."

Miss Burns smiled. "You were taken to headquarters," she said.

"Yes, but you remember there was no direct evidence against me," he observed. "A little later the safeguarding department warned me that someone was needed to look after me." Miss Burns blushed. "The words weren't meant in the spirit in which I chose to interpret them. But they made me think just the same and they've made me think since, and they've got me thinking harder than ever --- now that I am going to Chicago." He paused. Mary Burns studied the design in the wallpaper, but did not offer to speak. So the adman went on. "There's another thing I want to say. You're too good for this detective business. It isn't the style of work for a sweet girl like you, and I want you to quit it. Ever since the day you arrested that thug in the jewelry department ---"

"I didn't arrest him," she interrupted, "you fixed him first, or he'd have escaped."

"Well, anyway, I don't like the idea of your stacking up against the kind of life the position demands. If I can offer you something better with a change of environment, and a change of duties, and a change of --- a change of name, would you consider it?" He extended his hand and she lets hers slip into it. Her gaze dropped from the wallpaper design to the mosaic carpet.

"If I went," she softly said, "who --- who would look after the store?"

"If you didn't go," he pathetically replied, "who --- who would look after me?" The store detective winced.

"I --- I'll go," she said.

"Mary!" he cried.

"Store hours!" she cautioned.

"Hang store hours!" he exclaimed, and the new understanding was sealed in the good old way.

A little later John Hancock Barker appeared before his employer. They exchanged greetings that betokened friendship as well as a business relationship.

"It's three months today," said the younger man.

"Since you introduced the ginger cure?"

"Since I was hauled before you for suspicious behavior," laughed the adman.

His employer laughed with him. "Well, the tryout has proved eminently satisfactory," the merchant said, "and in slang parlance, 'you can stay as long and go as far as you like.'"

The younger man shook his head. "Thank you, Mr. Grover, but I'm going away."

The veteran eyed him closely and his smile faded.

"To better yourself?" he asked. "I'm willing to do what is right to keep you here. Remember that."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Grover," said the younger man with feeling. "But the facts are plain, sir. You don't really need me now, and I must have a new field for my ideas. The store is hitting up a merry pace on the road to success. You only have to look at the faces of Scott & McTavish and Moulton to know that. By the way, I understand they're even talking of consolidating."

"We'll miss you," said the old merchant, and a suggestion of worry crept into the deepening wrinkles.

"I'd be a poor servant indeed, sir, if I wasn't missed," the adman cheerily cried, "but the cogs of the store will run on just the same. I've had several talks with Wilkinson lately and I don't believe there's a more capable store superintendent in the state, Mr. Grover. He's taking up every new idea that comes along and analyzing it, and if it gets by his innate conservatism, you can count on his playing it for all there is in it. And by the way, I've made a discovery. It's young Hickox, of the book department. There's a boy, sir, who is a comer. I've been giving him lessons in ad-writing evenings, and I find he's a natural born publicity man. Did you notice yesterday's full page? Wasn't that an interesting-clincher? He did it. I suggest that you have a talk with him."

"I will," said the proprietor, and his eyes brightened as the outlook became cheerier.

"And what are you going to do, may I ask?"

John Hancock Barker drew from his pocket the letter that he had studied earlier in the morning and handed it to the old man. Mr. Grover glanced through it hastily.

"By George!" he exclaimed, "the offer is a liberal one." He hesitated and looked at the young man. "But no more than it should be, sir."

The adman smiled and handed a circular to his employer. "That," he said, "is the prospectus of the new company. I thought the manufacturer of flying-machines would give me a better chance for publicity ideas than anything else I could tackle," he explained.

The old merchant read the sheet with interest. "It seems like a great opportunity," he said, "and I congratulate you." The two shook hands.

The veteran turned to his desk and drew his checkbook from its compartment.

"I haven't the exact amount of the increased sales for the three months," he said as he wrote, "but how does that strike you?" He tore out the check and handed it to the younger man.

John Hancock Barker whistled softly.

"Thank you again, sir," he said, and his expression was one of mingled surprise and pleasure.