The big black eyes lighted; white teeth gleamed.
“You lika drink? Sure. I take you da office.”
Jim drank and followed the boy, whose bare feet seemed miraculously to take no harm from the rubbish he walked over.
“Me Pete.” he said, pointing to himself. “Me carry da drink.” Then he pointed to a small frame shack. “Dat da office,” he said.
Jim walked through the half-open door. Nobody was there. On a drafting-table were drawings and blue-prints; a roll-top desk was littered with papers and letters. Jim sat down in a revolving-chair to wait for the return of Mr. Wattrous, the engineer in charge of construction. It was very hot and stuffy, so he removed hat and coat and made himself at home.
A man with a red face, a wilted collar, and a leather document case entered presently.
“Afternoon,” he said, sinking into a chair and mopping his face. “White’s my name. Fire-proof paint. Jenkins was sick, so I came up, but I guess you and me can fix things as well as him, eh?”
Before Jim could reply the individual continued: “Now we can’t afford to pay you any fifteen per cent. commission out of our own pockets. ’Tain’t right we should. But here’s what we will do: We’ll stand seven and a half and we’ll just add seven and a half to the face of the invoices. See? You’ll get your fifteen all right and we won’t get stung for but half of it. Neat scheme and fair to all sides, eh?”
“Does sound neat,” Jim said, “but not economical.”
Mr. White laughed, as at a witticism.