"Oh, anywhere. I don't know. There must be women in every town who would like to earn a little money."
"Well, I haven't time to hunt for them. If you know any one around here who would undertake the job, I could give her quite a bit of work. So could the others."
"You don't mean me, do you?" laughed Sheila. "Sandy gives me all I can handle."
"Of course I never thought of such a thing," said Farwell seriously. "Did it sound like that?"
"No, I am joking. I think you take things seriously, Mr. Farwell."
"I suppose so," he admitted. "Yes, I guess I do. I can't help it. I'm no joker; no time for that. Jokers don't get anywhere. Never saw one that did. It's the fellow who keeps thinking about his job and banging away at it who gets there."
"The inference being that I won't get anywhere."
Farwell, puzzled momentarily, endeavoured to remember what he had said.
"I guess I made another break. I wasn't thinking of you. Women don't have to get anywhere. Men do—that is, men who count. I've seen a lot of fellows in my own profession—smart, clever chaps—but, instead of buckling down to work, they were eternally running about having a good time. And what did any of them ever amount to? Not that!" He snapped his fingers contemptuously.
"But wasn't that the fault of the men themselves? I mean that, apart from their liking for a good time, perhaps they hadn't the other qualities to make them successful."