starter to the president." His tone was kindly, but not
hopeful.

Fanny was standing too, her mental eye on the door. But now
she turned to face him squarely.

"Do you mean that?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, then, I've one to make. Your stock boys and stock
girls walk miles and miles every day, on every floor of this
fifteen-story building. I watched them yesterday, filling
up the bins, carrying orders, covering those enormous
distances from one bin to another, up one aisle and down the
next, to the office, back again. Your floors are concrete,
or cement, or some such mixture, aren't they? I just
happened to think of the boy who used to deliver our paper
on Norris Street, in Winnebago, Wisconsin. He covered his
route on roller skates. It saved him an hour. Why don't
you put roller skates on your stock boys and girls?"

Fenger stared at her. You could almost hear that mind of
his working, like a thing on ball bearings. "Roller
skates." It wasn't an exclamation. It was a decision. He
pressed a buzzer--the snuff-brown secretary buzzer. "Tell
Clancy I want him. Now." He had not glanced up, or taken
his eyes from Fanny. She was aware of feeling a little
uncomfortable, but elated, too. She moved toward the door.
Fenger stood at his desk. "Wait a minute." Fanny