"Indeed you can, my boy. You'll have to stay at Tamawaca, but as a worker instead of a drone. Can you run a typewriter?"
"Yes; I used one at college for a couple of years, and got to be fairly expert. But I know nothing of short-hand."
"That isn't necessary. I shall require your services every forenoon, but you may have the afternoons to yourself. I'll give you twenty dollars a week and pay your board at the hotel."
"Isn't that too much, Mr. Jarrod?"
"Not for the work you must do. Any intelligent man would cost me that much, and I will need you but a couple of months—until I go home."
"Very good, sir. I'll do my best to please you."
"Then you're my secretary. Come around to my cottage at nine o'clock Monday morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Jarrod."
That evening Jim told Susie he would not have to bid her good-bye, as they had expected, for he had been discharged as a dry-goods clerk and employed as a private secretary, which was a distinct advance in his fortunes.
Susie listened gravely, but was evidently much pleased.