“I've had a very nice time, Mr. Thompson, and you don't know how grateful I am to you, sir.”
“Yes, it's bedtime,” said Mr. Thompson, absently. Then he came back to Tommy. “Tommy,” he said, “if you ever feel like coming to me to tell me what an ignorant ass you think you are, do so. I'll agree with you; and perhaps, after I listen to your reasons I'll even raise your salary on the spot. If you get lonesome walk it off; don't come to me. But Mrs. Thompson will introduce you to a lot of nice young people—”
Tommy shook his head violently. “Thank you very much, Mr. Thompson. But I'd—” He floundered till a ray of light showed him the way out. He finished, “I'd be more than glad if Mrs. Thompson would let me call once in a while so I could confidentially tell her what I think of her husband.”
Tommy smiled what he thought was a debonair smile. He wasn't going to know nice young people who some day might read in the newspapers—And, anyhow, he wasn't in Dayton to have a good time, but to sweat seventeen thousand dollars' worth.
“I see I can't do a damned thing for you, young man,” said Thompson, evenly. He accompanied Tommy to the door. He held out his hand. “Remember, when you want to tell me that you are not only an ignoramus, but an ass, and, to boot, blind, come up and say it. Good night, Tommy!” And he shook Tommy's hand firmly.
“All I know,” thought Tommy to himself on the way home, “is that he is the greatest thing that ever came down the pike.”
He thought of the day when he could feel that he owed nothing and dreaded nothing.
He fell asleep thinking he ought to look into the selling end of the business.