“Now, looky here, Mr. Mangan,” put in Halfaman. “You ’n’ me’s good friends. This Jasper is me pal; and if he can’t get on with me, stuff’s off. Now you c’n give um somethin’ to do, I know. Come on, Mr. Mangan.”
“You old beggar!” Mangan laughed; then he wrinkled his brow. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve just thought of something.”
He went to the old-fashioned telephone back of the hotel counter and whirled the crank in a signal ring. Presently he spoke to somebody, then returned and said:
“I’ve got a job for your pal, Halfaman. The cooks can use another flunky. If he wants to tackle that, at thirty-five and, he’s got a job.”
Halfaman looked inquiringly at his friend.
“I’ll try anything once,” said the other.
“You’ve both got jobs, then,” Hunter Mangan concluded, turning briskly to his desk. “Let’s see—what’s that impossible name of yours, Halfaman?”
“Rub it in!” grinned the new snap driver. “Make me spill it before everybody! You know it’s Phinehas.”
Hunter Mangan, in high good nature, chuckled and wrote the name.
“And yours?” He turned to the other.