"My name is Thompson," he stated cheerfully. "It is ten o'clock. I have called—as you suggested."
Henderson smiled.
"I have been accused of hastiness in my judgment of men, but it is admitted that I seldom make mistakes," he said complacently. "In this organization there is always a place for able, aggressive young men. Some men have ability without any force. Some men are aggressive with no ability whatever. How about you? Think you could sell motor-cars?"
"How the deuce do I know?" Thompson replied frankly. "I have never tried. I'm handicapped to begin. I know nothing about either cars or salesmanship."
"Would you like to try?"
Thompson considered a minute.
"Yes," he declared. "I've tried several things. I'm willing to try anything once. Only I do not see how I can qualify."
"We'll see about that," John P.'s eyes kept boring into him. "D'ye mind a personal question or two?"
Thompson shook his head.
He did not quite know how it came about, but he passed under Henderson's deft touch from reply to narration, and within twenty minutes had sketched briefly his whole career.