"And you can't get one?" Judith smiled incredulously.
"No. Oh, of course there's plenty of chance to invest some money and be treasurer and all that, but I mean a regular job. I've tried everywhere." He hung his head dejectedly.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"Those who know me know me too well. And those who don't know me—don't know me," he answered cryptically. "And I don't know anything, myself."
"I'm so sorry," she said helplessly.
"How do you suppose." He switched the topic suddenly. "How do you suppose a chap without any pull or any friends—a fellow like Good, for instance—gets jobs?"
Before the echo of Roger's words had died from the air, a maid stood in the doorway, announcing the presence of Good himself.
"Why not ask him?" said Judith obviously. And when the tall man came in, still dressed in his familiarly shabby brown suit, Roger put the question.
"How did I get my first job," he repeated slowly, with a twinkle in his eye. "Well—I asked for one—and I kept on asking for one until I got it."
"But that's just what I've done," protested Roger.