I HAD not seen Perkins for six months or so, and things were dull. I was beginning to tire of sitting indolently in my office, with nothing to do but clip coupons from my bonds. Money is good enough in its way, but it is not interesting unless it is doing something lively—doubling itself or getting lost. What I wanted was excitement,—an adventure,—and I knew that if I could find Perkins, I could have both. A scheme is a business adventure, and Perkins was the greatest schemer in or out of Chicago.
Just then Perkins walked into my office.
“Perkins,” I said, as soon as he had arranged his feet comfortably on my desk, “I'm tired. I'm restless. I have been wishing for you for a month. I want to go into a big scheme, and make a lot of new, up-to-date cash. I'm sick of this tame, old cash that I have. It isn't interesting. No cash is interesting except the coming cash.”
“I'm with you,” said Perkins; “what is your scheme?”
“I have none,” I said sadly. “That is just my trouble. I have sat here for days trying to think of a good, practical scheme, but I can't. I don't believe there is an unworked scheme in the whole wide, wide world.” Perkins waved his hand.
“My boy,” he exclaimed, “there are millions! You've thousands of 'em right here in your office! You're falling over them, sitting on them, walking on them! Schemes? Everything is a scheme. Everything has money in it!”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Yes,” I said, “for you. But you are a genius.”
“Genius, yes,” Perkins said, smiling cheerfully, “else why Perkins the Great? Why Perkins the Originator? Why the Great and Only Perkins of Portland?”
“All right,” I said, “what I want is for your genius to get busy. I'll give you a week to work up a good scheme.”