His runabout carried him to the entrance to Bonbright Foote,
Incorporated, and he hurried up the stairs to the office.
"Mr. Foote in?" he snapped.
"Just returned, Mr. Lightener."
"Want to see him—right off—quick."
"Yes, sir."
The girl at the switchboard called Mr. Foote and informed him.
"He says to step right in, sir," she said, and before she was done speaking Lightener was on his way down the corridor.
Mr. Foote sat coldly behind his desk. He held no kindness for Malcolm Lightener, for Lightener had befriended Bonbright in his recalcitrancy. Lightener had made it possible for the boy to defy his father. Lightener's wife and daughter had openly waged society war against his wife in behalf of his son's wife…. But Mr. Foote was not the man to throw away an enormous and profitable business because of a personal grudge.
Lightener paused for no preliminaries.
"Foote," he said, "I want ten thousand engines complete. You can make 'em. You've got room to expand, and I can give you approximate figures on the costs. You make good axles and you can make good engines. What d'you think about it?"