"Who moved my desk out like this?" thundered Mr. Bangs on the second day after Quin's arrival.
"I did, sir," said Quin. "You can get a much better light here, and no draught from the door."
"Well, when I want my desk moved I will inform you," said Mr. Bangs.
But a day's trial of the new arrangement proved so satisfactory that the desk remained in its new position.
Other innovations met with less favor. The clerks in the outer office objected to the windows being kept down from the top, and Mr. Bangs was constantly annoyed when he found that his papers were disturbed by a daily dusting and sorting. Quin met the complaints and rebuffs with easy good humor, and went straight on with his business. The moment his energies were dammed at one point, they burst forth with fresh vigor at another.
The only object about the office that was left undisturbed was Minerva, a large black cat which the stenographer told him belonged to Mr. Randolph Bartlett. Quin was hopelessly committed to cats in general, and to black cats in particular, and the fact that this one met with Mr. Bangs's marked disfavor made him champion her cause at once. One noon hour, in his first week, he was sitting alone in the inner office, scratching Minerva's head in the very spot behind the ear where a cat most likes to be scratched, when a lively voice from the doorway demanded:
"Well, young man, what do you mean by making love to my cat in my absence?"
"She flirted with me first," said Quin. Then he took a second look at the stranger and got up smiling. "You are Mr. Bartlett, I believe?"
"Yes. Are you waiting for Mr. Bangs?"
"No, sir," said Quin; "he's waiting for me. I'm to let him know as soon as you come in. I am the new office-boy."