The little man turned on him wrathfully.
"Can't? Can't? They've got to get back for second trips."
"Then give him two extra helpers."
Mr. Cook stared at him through his spectacles, then turned and shouted the order. When he turned back he dried his forehead and relieved himself by a burst of confidence.
"There's a lot of stuff to go to South America by the boat sailing at three o'clock. A rush order, and just when we are rushed with other deliveries; and Ransome is home sick. I never send out the trucks; I don't know when they should come in or how they should go. I've got all my own work checking over every shipment that goes out, too. It's too much, it can't be done. The chauffeurs are playing me, I know they are. Look at the stuff left over that ought to have been got out yesterday, not moved yet! They tell me lies about the motors breaking down; I know they are lies; why should half the trucks in the place break down just when Ransome is away? But I can't prove it."
"Why not put a mechanic in a light machine to go out to any truck that breaks down, and then give orders that any man whose truck stops is to 'phone in here at once?" suggested Adriance.
This time Mr. Cook regarded him steadily for a full minute. Seizing the advantage of the other man's attention, Adriance struck again:
"Would you like me to take Mr. Ransome's place for the day? I know both cities pretty well and I know your men. One of the other men can take out my truck; Russian Mike, for instance."
"He can't drive."
"I beg your pardon, he drives very well; I taught him myself this winter."