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They chose a quiet and eminently respectable dining place, and after they had

ordered, Jimmy spread upon the table an evening paper he had purchased upon

the street.

Help me find a job," he said to the girl, and together the two ran through the

want columns.

Here's a bunch of them," cried the girl laughingly, "all in one ad. Night cook, one

hundred and fifty dollars; swing man, one hundred and forty dollars; roast cook,

one hundred and twenty dollars; broiler, one hundred and twenty dollars. I'd

better apply for that. Fry cook, one hundred and ten dollars. Oh, here's

something for Steve Murray: chicken butcher, eighty dollars; here's a job I'd like,"

she cried, "ice-cream man, one hundred dollars."

Quit your kidding," said Jimmy. "I'm looking for a job, not an acrostic."

Well," she said, "here are two solid pages of them, but nobody seems to want a

waiter. What else can you do?" she asked smiling up at him.

I can drive a milk-wagon," said Jimmy, "but the drivers are all on strike."

Now, be serious," she announced. "Let's look for something really good. Here's

somebody wants a finishing superintendent for a string music instrument factory,

and a business manager and electrical engineer in this one. What's an efficiency

expert?"

"Oh, he's a fellow who gums up the works, puts you three weeks behind in less

than a week and has all your best men resigning inside of a month. I know,

because my dad had one at his plant a few years ago."

102

The Efficiency Expert