“I’m going to begin work here to-morrow, and I’m sort of looking around to get an idea of the place.”
The man leaned back against the side of the bench, picked up a pipe, lighted it, and surveyed Clancy thoughtfully through wreaths of smoke.
“Don’t do it,” said he, shaking his head. “I don’t know why in blazes Rockwell is hiring more help, but that’s his business. I suppose it’s none of my business, either, where you work or what you do, but you look to be as square as a die. If that’s the case, then the Red Star Garage is no place for you.”
Clancy was surprised at this bit of advice coming from one of Rockwell’s men. He must have shown how he felt, for the other went on quickly:
“Of course, I’m not yellin’ my advice to you in Rockwell’s ears. What I’m saying to you is strictly on the q. t. If you’ve got a job here, chuck it!”
“But Mr. Rockwell made me an offer, and I accepted it,” returned Clancy.
“Did he say anything to you about ‘tact,’ and all that?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going into the game with your eyes open. I guess I didn’t read you right.”
“I guess you did,” said Owen. “I won’t stand for the kind of ‘tact’ Rockwell mentioned, and I told him so.”