But five years had passed and he was still an advertising man. The firm of Mackay and Gilchrist had grown. He flattered himself that its success had been due to his personal prestige. People said, "Oh, that's Aubrey Gilchrist, the writer. Well, that's quite an asset for an advertising concern." And so they brought their business to Mackay-Gilchrist.
He disliked Schroder because on the few occasions they had met, the man had exuberantly ignored the fact he was Aubrey Gilchrist. Schroder was a man who had no interest in anything outside himself—a noisy, self-satisfied creature with no reason to be noisy or self-satisfied. He had never done anything.
"I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Schroder," Aubrey answered stiffly.
"Ho ho," Schroder exclaimed, "your husband is insulted, Mrs. Gilchrist. Well, I apologize. There's George, I'll lay you dollars to doughnuts."
The bell had rung. Basine entered. Aubrey looked significantly at his partner. The significance was due to the fact that Schroder seemed likely to ruin the visit. Aubrey announced aloud after the greetings:
"Thought we'd drop in for a private discussion, George."
Henrietta was smiling tenderly at her husband.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Well, I've got great news for you," Basine exclaimed. The company looked hopefully at him.
"What, dear?"