He closed his eyes, and his thoughts wandered back to the day when he had first entered the doors of the firm as one of two hundred and seventy-eight applicants for the post of office-boy. They had been interviewed in batches, and old Mr. Sanderson, the senior partner, had taken the first batch.
"I like your face, my boy," he had said heartily to John.
"And I like yours," replied John, not to be outdone in politeness.
"Now I wonder if you can spell 'mortgage'?"
"One 'm,'" said John tentatively.
Mr. Sanderson was delighted with the lad's knowledge, and engaged him at once.
For three years John had done his duty faithfully. During this time he had saved the firm more than once by his readiness—particularly on one occasion, when he had called old Mr. Sanderson's attention to the fact that he had signed a letter to a firm of stockbrokers, "Your loving husband, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton." Mr. Sanderson, always a little absent-minded, corrected the error, and promised the boy his articles. Five years later John Blunt was a solicitor.
And now he was actually junior partner in the firm—the firm of which it was said in the City, "If a man has Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton behind him he is all right." The City is always coining pithy little epigrams like this.
There was a knock at the door of the enquiry office and a prosperous-looking gentleman came in.
"Can I see Mr. Macnaughton?" he said politely to the office-boy.