Peter Bolton looked at me suspiciously, and then gave grudging acknowledgment of Morgan's agency.
"I never write," he grumbled. "You never know whose hands a letter will fall into."
"A very prudent rule," I returned.
He shook his head slowly, drew down the corners of his mouth, and rubbed his hands.
"Well, I suppose by this time you are about ready to take up with my offer," he said with a look of shrewd cunning.
"Your offer? I really didn't know that you had made one," I answered.
His cold blue eyes looked searchingly into my face for a minute. Then he said:
"You'll find it best to take up with my terms. I don't know what salary you're getting from Kendrick, but you're going to lose it."
"I didn't expect to keep it for ever. Did Mr. Kendrick tell you he was going to discharge me?"
"Tell me?" began Peter Bolton with a sarcastic leer. "He didn't have to. I've got better information than he can give. Your man Kendrick is going broke within the next thirty days, and he won't have any use for that fine herd of clerks he has been keeping."