"We will now consider the question of summer underwear ended.
Would it bore you too much to touch lightly on the subject of your
son's future?"

Emma McChesney, tall, straight, handsome, looked up at her son,
taller, straighter, handsomer. Then she took him by the coat
lapels and hugged him.

"You were so bursting with your own glory that I couldn't resist
teasing you. Besides, I had to do something to keep my mind
off--off--"

"Why, Blonde dear, you're not--!"

"No, I'm not," gulped Emma McChesney. "Don't flatter yourself,
young 'un. Tell me just how it happened. From the beginning." She
perched at the side of the bed. Jock, hands in pockets, hair a
little rumpled, paced excitedly up and down before her as he
talked.

"There wasn't any beginning. That's the stunning part of it. I
just landed right into the middle of it with both feet. I knew
they had been planning to start a big Western branch. But we all
thought they'd pick some big man for it. There are plenty of
medium-class dubs to be had. The kind that answers the ad:
'Manager wanted, young man, preferably married, able to furnish
A-1 reference.' They're as thick as advertising men in Detroit on
Monday morning. But we knew that this Western branch was going to
be given an equal chance with the New York office. Those big
Western advertisers like to give their money to Western firms if