On the morning of the third day, when I went to the window, bashful-like, to buy five hundred B.R.T. the clerk said to me, “Say, Mr. Kent, the boss wants to see you.”
I knew the game was up. But I asked him, “What does he want to see me about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he?”
“In his private office. Go in that way.” And he pointed to a door.
I went in. Dolan was sitting at his desk. He swung around and said, “Sit down, Livingston.”
He pointed to a chair. My last hope vanished. I don’t know how he discovered who I was; perhaps from the hotel register.
“What do you want to see me about?” I asked him.
“Listen, kid. I ain’t got nothin’ agin yeh, see? Nothin’ at all. See?”
“No, I don’t see,” I said.