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office farther up the Avenue—he reflected upon the nice way things could mesh. This builder, the same man who had recommended the tailor, was planning a shopping center on Long Island and needed investors. At the same time some of the brokerage accounts who had left Pete to follow Eddy were looking for investments, shelters by which to cut their income taxes. It was encouraging to note how many customers had chosen him over Pete. And he hadn’t by even the slightest hint lured any one of them away; he would never have done that. No, they had followed him of their own volition, proving that a good part of the business had come through him and not through Pete in the first place. But Pete had never been especially sociable. You had to be upbeat, you had to smile, if you wanted to attract people.
    He was smiling when he entered Mr. Hartman’s mahogany office.
    “I want to thank you for recommending your tailor, Mr. Hartman. How do you like the suit?”
    “You look like a million dollars, Eddy. If I had a son, I’d want him to look like you. So, let’s get down to business. I’m swamped today, so let’s waste no time. I hope you haven’t come emptyhanded.”
    “No, sir, I definitely have not. I’ve got five names, and I’ll have two more by Wednesday sure.”
    The two men sat down with papers spread out between them.
    “These are all responsible people, Mr. Hartman, as you can see. I’m about through checking their references, and they’re all top drawer.”
    “I see they are. Always stick with the top drawer, young man.” The older man placed Eddy’s papers in a tidy pile. “And speaking of that, how would you like me to put you up for membership in my tennis club on the Island?”
    “That sounds great, Mr. Hartman!”
    “They’ve got nice accommodations. You can spend the weekend there next summer whenever you want. Get out of the city, play tennis, have a swim. It’s all there. The fee’s pretty steep, but it’ll be worth it to you.
    “I know it will, Mr. Hartman. I’m honored that you’ll endorse me.”
    “No problem, Eddy. My pleasure.”
    They shook hands, and Eddy went down onto the street. It was all he could do not to whistle. This was the way you got ahead, step by step. An entrée like this one at the club would mean the opening of more new doors. He saw a long vista, a bright corridor lined with opening doors.
    In such a mood, walking uptown for no reason other than that he felt like doing it, he stopped before the window of an art gallery. There, all by itself, hung a small watercolor of a pond, with catkins along the shore. Neo-Impressionist, he decided as he regarded it, set probably in New England. He had been buying art books, teaching himself against the day when he would be a buyer of art. And he went inside to inquire of a rather distinguished gentleman the price of the painting.
    “Twelve thousand dollars. The artist has been doing very well. His prices are rising.”
    The distinguished gentleman spoke defensively, as if, Eddy realized at once, he had mistaken Eddy’s expression for disapproval. Actually, Eddy’s attention had been suddenly attracted by another watercolor on the wall.
    “This one’s better,” Eddy said.
    He moved closer to it. Here, too, was water, a cove or inlet where sailboats were at anchor in the evening; so deft, so real, was it that one could almost hear the soft lapping of the water and feel the cool air. Yet for all its realness it was no picture postcard; there was something—something else that the artist had put there. He couldn’t have defined what the something was, he only knew that it was there, and it was art. A marvelous, unfamiliar excitement rose in him.
    “Yes,” he said. “Much the better of the two.”
    “You’re right, of course. Quite right. He’s a finer artist than the other.”
    “Naturally, it must be more expensive?”
    “Actually, it’s two thousand less. The man’s just comingup, you see. The other has a bigger