"What is it, Allen?" cried Alice, expectantly.
"It's a whole lot better than it sounds, I'm sure. I'm afraid you'll laugh when I tell you. It's selling books."
"A book agent!" Mrs. Gorham exclaimed.
"There! that's just what I was afraid of." Allen's expression showed mingled distress and despair. "It really looks like a corking good chance, yet it's a ten to one shot that I'll be laughed out of taking it before I begin."
"Don't mind what I said." Mrs. Gorham hastened to atone for her involuntary exclamation. "I suppose it can be a perfectly honorable occupation, but I can't help thinking of some of the experiences my friends have had. Tell us all about it."
"Eleanor and I would be the last ones to discourage you," Alice added.
"I think it's fine that you have gotten as far as this."
Allen's drooping spirits revived at once, and he beamed at Alice gratefully.
"I've simply got to get more experience," he said, emphatically. "Mr. Gorham told me that most of the best companies have no time to develop their own material, and I've made up my mind definitely that I'm going to do my own developing right now; and when I've polished up the material until I can see my face in it, I'll apply again to Mr. President, and say, 'Here I am, all developed—now will you give me a job?'"
"Splendid !" cried Alice, clapping her hands. "Now tell us what you've found. Where is the book-shop?"
"It isn't in a book-shop at all," Allen replied, his assurance again beginning to wane. "It's just what Mrs. Gorham called it."