Mrs. Mitchell's eyes were as round as buttons. "Three million dollars' worth of steel in one contract! Do you think you could land it if you went?"
"It's my line of work," the young man replied, doubtfully. "I'll bet I know more about cyanide tanks than any salesman in Europe, and if I had a decent price to work on—"
"Then it's the chance we've been waiting for."
The girl scrambled to her feet and, fetching a chair, began to talk earnestly, rapidly. She talked for a long time, until gradually the man's gray despondency gave way to her own bright optimism. Nor was it idle theory alone that she advanced; Mitchell found that she knew almost as much about the steel business as he did, and when she had finished he arose and kissed her.
"You've put new heart into me, anyhow. If you're game to do your share, why—I'll try it out. But remember it may mean all we've got in the bank, and—" He looked at her darkly.
"It's the biggest chance we'll ever have," she insisted. "It's worth trying. Don't let's wait to get rich until we are old."
When Mr. Comer returned from lunch he found his youngest salesman waiting for him, and inside of ten minutes he had learned what Mitchell had on his mind. With two words Comer blew out the gas.
"You're crazy," said he.
"Am I? It's worth going after."
"In the first place no big foreign job ever came to America—"