The Go-Getter | Page 8

the earmarks of a good manager
for our Shanghai office, but I'll have to test him a little further." He looked up
humorously at Mr. Skinner. "Skinner, my dear boy," he continued, "I'm going to have
him deliver a blue vase."
Mr. Skinner's cold features actually glowed. "Well, tip the chief of police and the
proprietor of the store off this time and save yourself some money," he warned Cappy.
He walked to the window and looked down into California Street. He continued to smile.

"Yes," Cappy continued dreamily, "I think I shall give him the thirty-third degree. You'll
agree with me, Skinner, that if he delivers the blue vase he'll be worth ten thousand
dollars a year as our Oriental manager?"
"I'll say he will," Mr. Skinner replied slangily.
"Very well, then. Arrange matters, Skinner, so that he will be available for me at one
o'clock, a week from Sunday. I'll attend to the other details."
Mr. Skinner nodded. He was still chuckling when he departed for his own office.
* * * * *
V
A week from the succeeding Saturday, Mr. Skinner did not come down to the office, but
a telephone message from his home informed the chief clerk that Mr. Skinner was at
home and somewhat indisposed. The chief clerk was to advise Mr. Peck that he, Mr.
Skinner, had contemplated having a conference with the latter that day, but that his
indisposition would prevent this. Mr. Skinner hoped to be feeling much better tomorrow,
and since he was very desirous of a conference with Mr. Peck before the latter should
depart on his next selling pilgrimage, on Monday, would Mr. Peck be good enough to call
at Mr. Skinner's house at one o'clock Sunday afternoon? Mr. Peck sent back word that he
would be there at the appointed time and was rewarded with Mr. Skinner's thanks, via the
chief clerk.
Promptly at one o'clock the following day, Bill Peck reported at the general manager's
house. He found Mr. Skinner in bed, reading the paper and looking surprisingly well. He
trusted Mr. Skinner felt better than he looked. Mr. Skinner did, and at once entered into a
discussion of the new customers, other prospects he particularly desired Mr. Peck to
approach, new business to be investigated, and further details without end. And in the
midst of this conference Cappy Riggs telephoned.
A portable telephone stood on a commode beside Mr. Skinner's bed, so the latter
answered immediately. Comrade Peck watched Skinner listen attentively for fully two
minutes, then heard him say:
"Mr. Ricks, I'm terribly sorry. I'd love to do this errand for you, but really I'm under the
weather. In fact, I'm in bed as I speak to you now. But Mr. Peck is here with me and I'm
sure he'll be very happy to attend to the matter for you."
"By all means," Bill Peck hastened to assure the general manager. "Who does Mr. Ricks
want killed and where will he have the body delivered?"
"Hah-hah! Hah-Hah!" Mr. Skinner had a singularly annoying, mirthless laugh, as if he
begrudged himself such an unheard-of indulgence. "Mr. Peck says," he informed Cappy,
"that he'll be delighted to attend to the matter for you. He wants to know whom you want
killed and where you wish the body delivered. Hah-hah! Hah! Peck, Mr. Ricks will speak

to you."
Bill Peck took the telephone. "Good afternoon, Mr. Ricks."
"Hello, old soldier. What are you doing this afternoon?"
"Nothing--after I conclude my conference with Mr. Skinner. By the way, he has just
given me a most handsome boost in salary, for which I am most appreciative. I feel,
however, despite Mr. Skinner's graciousness, that you have put in a kind word for me
with him, and I want to thank you--"
"Tut, tut. Not a peep out of you, sir. Not a peep. You get nothing for nothing from
Skinner or me. However, in view of the fact that you're feeling kindly toward me this
afternoon, I wish you'd do a little errand for me. I can't send a boy and I hate to make a
messenger out of you--er--ah--ahem! That is har-umph-h-h--!"
"I have no false pride, Mr. Ricks."
"Thank you, Bill. Glad you feel that way about it. Bill, I was prowling around town this
forenoon, after church, and down in a store on Sutter Street, between Stockton and
Powell Street, on the right hand side as you face Market Street, I saw a blue vase in a
window. I have a weakness for vases, Bill. I'm a sharp on them, too. Now, this vase I saw
isn't very expensive as vases go--in fact, I wouldn't buy it for my collection--but one of
the finest and sweetest ladies of my acquaintance has the mate to that blue vase