LONG before his train arrived in Dayton Tommy firmly fixed his resolve. All that he had so far done at the Tecumseh was piffling; the real work was before him. His first definite, concrete task—his mission to New York—had been accomplished, but he saw very clearly that his success did not entitle him to much credit. It was not business ability or good salesmanship that had placed the stock, but sheer luck—the luck of having for his best friend Rivington Willetts, whose father happened to be an extremely rich man. But even with that luck he would have failed but for his father's forethought in supplying the information that intelligent investors required. He was conscious of a regret that he had not tried to interest Mr. Mead or Mr. Wilson, or some of the others in his list, to establish definitely whether or not he was a financier.

He could not help the intrusion into his meditations of one disturbing thought. His father worried him. The poor old man certainly had acted queerly. It was quite obvious that long brooding over the secret had affected his father's mind. This made the situation more serious. Every day it grew more complicated, more menacing, more desirable to end it once for all. And yet Tommy could not make up his mind to confide in Thompson. Somehow the problem was not up squarely for solution. The need to ask Mr. Thompson's aid seemed less and less urgent as the train drew nearer and nearer to Dayton, exactly as a toothache, after raging all night, vanishes in the dentist's office at the first glimpse of the forceps. This thought made Tommy reproach himself for rank cowardice. But the excuse-seeking instinct of inexperienced youth made him instantly see his father as a loving father, who had done for his only son what his only son was so sorry he had done. And that love made it impossible not to shield him. It was not alone Tommy's secret, but his father's—theirs jointly.

It was not cowardice that decided Tommy. Nevertheless, he must be a man. Therefore, Tommy's problem changed itself into the simple proposition of working hard and doing his best. Then, whatever came, he would take it like a man. He forgot that he had already decided to do so several times. And so, toward the end, he became very impatient to reach the Tecumseh shop, where the work was that must be his salvation.

He went straight to the office and, learning that Mr. Thompson was there, walked into the private office—without knocking, of course.

“Hello, Tommy! I thought you were in New York,” said Thompson. He did not offer to shake hands, but that merely made Tommy feel that he really had not been away from Dayton at all. It, therefore, pushed New York at least five thousand miles eastward.

“Well, I got the check,” began Tommy, very calmly, as though it were nothing unusual.

But Thompson did not smile at the boyish pose. He asked, quickly, “Not checks?” and emphasized the plural.

“The stock will be apportioned later,” explained Tommy, hastily, realizing that Thompson had intended him to interest several people. “They are all friends, sir.”

“Tell me all about it,” said Thompson. And Tommy did. In order not to have to explain at all what he could not explain in full, he did not mention his father's participation.

“Well, Tommy,” Mr. Thompson spoke musingly, “you are a lucky boy. Guard against it. Try to feel that you must earn your successes, even if you don't have to work as hard as other men. Otherwise, they will mean nothing to you. And now what do you propose to do?'

“Get a receipt for the money. The stock is to be made out to John B. Kendrick.”

“Go to Holland and tell him what you want done. If you have no other plans—” He looked inquiringly at Tommy.

“No, sir,” hastily said Tommy.

“Your job is still Door Opener.”

“Very well, sir.” Tommy tinned to go, but Thompson called to him.

“Tommy!”

“Yes, sir?”

“I'm glad to see you back.” And Thompson held out his hand. Tommy shook it. He had received neither praise nor congratulations, but he knew now that this was the place for him.

“If you can, after you're done with Holland, come back here and I'll show you some architectural drawings that have just come in, of the new shop.”

“I'll hurry back,” said Tommy, happily.

He hastened down-town to the Tecumseh Building, saw Bob Holland, the treasurer of the company, gave him the check, got his receipt, told him to make out the stock certificates to John B. Kendrick, and received the promise that the certificates would go to New York within an hour.

Thompson was busy with some visitors when Tommy returned to the office, and Tommy gladly took advantage of the opportunity to walk round the shop, delighted to see the friends of whom he had forgotten to think in New York, but who, nevertheless, were so glad to see him. This was the place in life, where he could be the new Tommy Leigh to his heart's content.

Then he went into the experimental laboratory to see Bill Byrnes. All that Bill said was, “Well?”

Tommy nodded nonchalantly.

“Go on!” said Bill, impatiently.

“Got it!” said Tommy.

“All?”

“Yep!”

“Fine!” said Bill, and Tommy knew he meant it.

“How about you, Bill?”

“Not yet, but soon,” replied Bill, with calm assurance. “She vaporizes at higher speed. She's doing over twelve hundred now.”

“Great-oh!” cried Tommy, looking at the engine. It was running smoothly.

How could he ever think that any other place was fit for a man, a real man, to live in? How? But he didn't even try to answer his own unanswerable question. He called on La Grange and Nevin and other comrades and conversed joyously with them. Then he went back to Mr. Thompson's office.

Thompson led him into the adjoining room. There on the table were a lot of blue prints. Mr. Thompson showed him the plans and the elevations of the new buildings.

They were wonderful, thought Tommy. He was so glad to see them, so proud of them, that he said:

“Say, Mr. Thompson, what's the reason I can't show these drawings to the men? They'll be quite excited about them—”

“What's your real notion, Tommy?” asked Mr. Thompson, a trifle rebukingly.

Tommy, in point of fact, had assumed only that the men would be as interested as he himself was. How could they help it? But Thompson's question made him instantly perceive Thompsonian possibilities—as perhaps Thompson had meant him to.

“Well, if our men are going to feel like a family we ought to make a family affair out of everything that concerns us all. Let me show them where we are all going to work. In fact, I think I ought to have some information to take to them every day. Then I'll get them used to my job.”

Tommy began to see more and more possibilities the more he thought about them.

“You see, they will know I'm on the inside, and I'll tell them all I know. That will make them feel they are on the inside, too. And they know I am for them first and last, and will feel—”

“Hold on. Don't get excited. You are taking it for granted that they are all as interested in this as you are.”

“Why shouldn't I take it for granted?” challenged Tommy, out of the fullness of his inexperience.

“There is no answer to that, Tommy,” said Thompson, gravely. “Why shouldn't you, indeed?”

Tommy looked at Thompson to see if there were a hidden meaning to his words. He saw only a pair of bright, steady, brown eyes full of comprehension.

“Go on,” said Thompson.

“I'm going to make them feel that it will be something to work in the new Tecumseh plant long before that plant is ready.”

“You'll have to hustle,” smiled Thompson. “Work begins Monday.”

“Do the men know it?”

“No; I decided only to-day.”

“Then let me tell them now, please.”

“Go ahead, Tommy.” Thompson spoke so seriously that Tommy knew he was on the right track.

“What about the drawings?”

“I'll have some printed for you at once,” Thompson promised, and Tommy's soul filled with self-confidence.

And it was along those lines that Tommy worked during the days that followed. He made of himself a sort of animated bulletin-board of good news and inside information about the new machinery and the provisions for the comfort and safety of the men in the shops. He told them about the plans under consideration for bonuses and pensions—all in strict confidence—and made it plain to them that it would be a great thing for a man to be able to say that he worked for the Tecumseh Motor Company.

No money-maker past thirty would have dreamed of assuming that the workmen already felt a direct, personal, family interest in the new shop and the new era. He talked to these, his friends, as though they were all Tommy Leighs. It was a nice boy's deed; and the men who very clearly saw his boyishness saw also his sincerity. If they thought that he was mistaken they blamed Thompson for making Tommy believe in dreams. Then they thought it would be a shame if the boy ever discovered the deception. And next they thought perhaps there was no deception on Thompson's part. And, anyhow, they liked Tommy, and that made them believe Tommy might not be wrong, after all; so that in the end it was not so difficult for them to share his enthusiasm. Of course there were the constitutional skeptics and the peevish sages who asked for impossible details, and the blithe American unbelievers in miracles. But these only made Tommy feel more friendly by making him feel more concerned over their own salvation, which he continued to offer them daily. For this boy had known suffering and fear and the vital need of money with which to purchase peace; and in his craving to do right he took the risk of assuming that people were good.