Frank knew from his books where the various commission-houses were. He knew the local merchants and the various commission-merchants. This was the thing he liked to do. It was pleasant to be out in the air again. He objected to desk work and pen work and poring over books. As he said in later years, his brain was his office. He hurried to the principal commission-merchants, offering his surplus. Did they want to buy for immediate delivery six hundred barrels of prime flour? He would offer it at nine dollars straight, in the barrel. They did not. He offered it in fractions, and some agreed to take one portion, and some another. In about an hour he had one lot of two hundred barrels, which he decided to offer to a famous operator named Genderman[24] with whom his firm did no business. The latter, a big man with curly gray hair and little eyes looked at Cowperwood curiously when he came in.

“What's your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in his wooden chair.

“Cowperwood.”

“So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to make a record[25], no doubt. That's why you came to me?”

Cowperwood merely smiled.

“Well, I'll take your flour. I need it.”

Cowperwood hurried out. He went direct to a firm of brokers in Walnut Street, with whom his firm dealt. Then he returned to the office.

“Well,” said Henry Waterman, when he reported, “you did that quick. You sold old Genderman two hundred barrels direct, did you? That's doing pretty well. He isn't on our books, is he?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work you won't be on the books long.”

Soon Frank became a familiar figure in the commission district and on the Produce Exchange, soliciting new customers and breaking gluts. Indeed the Watermans were astonished at his facilities. He had an uncanny faculty for making friends and being introduced into new realms. New life began to flow through the old channels of the Waterman company. Their customers were satisfied. George was for sending him out into the rural districts to drum up trade[26], and this was eventually done.

Near Christmas-time Henry said to George:

“We'll have to make Cowperwood a present. He hasn't any salary. How about five hundred dollars?”

“I guess he's worth it. He's certainly done everything we've expected, and more. He's cut out for this business.”

“What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say whether he's satisfied?”

“Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess.”

“Well, that fellow has the real knack for this business.”

So the night before Christmas, as Cowperwood was looking over some way-bills[27] and certificates, George Waterman came to his desk.

“My brother and I have been especially pleased with the way you have handled the work here during the past six months. We wanted to make some acknowledgment, and we thought about five hundred dollars. From January we'll give you a regular salary of thirty dollars a week.”

“I'm certainly much obliged to you,” said Frank. “I didn't expect that much. I've learned much here.”

“Oh, don't mention it. We know you've earned it. You can stay with us as long as you like. We're glad to have you with us.”

Cowperwood smiled his hearty, genial smile. He was feeling very comfortable under this evidence of approval.

On the way home that evening he was thinking about that business. He knew he wasn't going to stay there long, even in spite of this gift and promise of salary. They were grateful, of course; butwhy shouldn't they be? He was efficient, he knew that.