He approached the nearest desk. A young man was checking up rows of figures on a stack of yellow sheets. Tommy waited a full minute. The young man, obviously aware of Tommy's presence, and even annoyed by it, did not look up.
Tommy could not wait. He said, aggressively, “I want Thompson!”
The clerk looked up. “Who d'ye want?”
“Thompson.”
“What Thompson?”
Tommy wanted to fight, but he did not know which weapons to use in this particular skirmish. He resorted to the oldest. He smiled and spoke, quizzically, “Whom does a man mean when he says Thompson in this office?”
“Do you mean Mr. Thompson?” asked the clerk, rebukingly.
“I may.” Tommy again smiled tantalizingly. He won.
Having been made angry, the clerk became serious. He said, freezingly, “Mr. Thompson, the president?”
“Exactly!” interjected Tommy, kindly.