"And now," continued Kellogg, "we've got the whole evening before us in
which to chin. Sit down." He led Duncan to an arm-chair and gently but
firmly plumped him into its capacious depths. "We'll have a snug little
dinner here and--what do you say to taking in a show afterwards?"

"I say no."

"You dassent, my boy. This is the night we celebrate. I'm feeling
pretty good to-night."

"You ought to, Harry." Duncan struggled to rouse himself to share in
the spirit of gratulation with which Kellogg was bubbling. "I'm mighty
glad, old man. It's a great step up for you."

"It's all of that. You could have knocked me over with a feather when
Bartlett sprang it on me this morning. Of course, I was expecting
something--a boost in salary, or something like that. Bartlett knew
that other houses in the Street had made me offers--I've been pretty
lucky of late and pulled off one or two rather big deals--but a
partnership with L.J. Bartlett--! Think of it, Nat!"

"I'm thinking of it--and it's great."

"It'll keep me mighty busy," Kellogg blundered blindly on; "it means a
lot of extra work--but you know I like to work...."

"That's right, you do," agreed Duncan drearily. "It's queer to me--it
must be a great thing to like to work."