A few days later I met Tomlinson in the street with a valise in his hand.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m off to Mexico,” he answered. “They’re advertising for a Canadian teller for a bank in Tuscapulco. I’ve sent my credentials down, and I’m going to follow them right up in person. In a thing like this, the personal element is everything.”
So Tomlinson went down to Mexico and he travelled by sea to Mexico City, and then with a mule train to Tuscapulco. But the mails, with his credentials, went by land and got there two days ahead of him.
When Tomlinson got to Tuscapulco he went into the bank and he spoke to the junior manager and told him what he came for. ‘I’m awfully sorry,” the junior manager said, “I’m afraid that this post has just been filled.”
Then he went into an inner room to talk with the manager.
“The tellership that you wanted a Canadian for,” he asked, “didn’t you say that you have a man already?”
“Yes,” said the manager, “a brilliant young fellow from Toronto; his name is Tomlinson, I have his credentials here—a first-class man. I’ve wired him to come right along, at our expense, and we’ll keep the job open for him ten days.”
“There’s a young man outside,” said the
204
