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JOE BINNEY wriggled uncomfortably in his seat on the Jersey bus. His thin face, topped by mouse-colored hair, flushed with annoyance as he squirmed. The dignified, white-headed oldster sitting next to him gave Joe a fishy stare.

“Sorry, Mr. Dennler,” Binney muttered. “That da— that bottle keeps digging into me.”

“Bottle?” Dennler’s tufted eyebrows rose. “Do you drink?”

Binney hastily disclaimed the idea. He had to disclaim many ideas in Dennler’s sanctified company. Dennler, it seemed, demanded certain definite qualifications in the salesmen from whom he purchased goods.

Oh, well—Dennler was already sold on a big order from Pinnacle Novelty Company, the firm for which Binney worked. That meant a fat commission, and a chance to take Susan Blythe to dinner and the theater. Binney’s thin face wrinkled into a wistful smile. Maybe, some day, Susan would marry him....

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