"Oh, we mustn't think about making a change."
"I've handled more big jobs than any man of my age and experience on the road, and yet—I'm fired." The husband sighed wearily. "I built that big pipe line in Portland; I sold those smelters in Anaconda, and the cyanide tanks for the Highland Girl. Yes, and a lot of other jobs, too. I know all about the smelter business, but that's no sign I can sell electric belts or corn salve. We're up against it, girlie."
"Have people quit building smelters?"
"They sure have—during this panic. There's nothing doing anywhere."
The wife thought for a moment before saying, "The last time you were home you told me about some Western mining men who had gone to South Africa—"
"Sure! To the Rand! They've made good, too; they're whopping big operators, now."
"You said there was a large contract of some sort coming up in
London."
"Large! Well, rather! The Robinson-Ray job. It's the biggest ever, in my line. They're going to rebuild those plants the Boers destroyed. I heard all about it in Montana."
"Well!" Mrs. Mitchell spoke with finality. "That's the place for you.
Get the firm to send you over there."
"Um-m! I thought about that, but it scared me out. It's too big. Why, it's a three-million-dollar job. You see, we've never landed a large foreign contract in this country as yet." Mitchell sat up suddenly. "But say! This panic might—" Then he relaxed. "Oh, what's the use? If there were a chance the firm wouldn't send me. Comer would go himself—he'd take the whole outfit over for a job like that. Besides, it's too big a thing for our people; they couldn't handle it."