The light of a shaded lamp fell on his dark face.
“Pig-headed young jackanapes!” thought Captain Vincey. “But here goes—on little Joey’s account!”
Crossing the room, he flung himself into a chair beside Napier.
“Well!” he said.
Napier glanced quietly at him.
“Thing is,” said the captain, “you didn’t know who I was, eh?”
“Not then,” said Napier.
He had been alone in his office that afternoon when this man had come in—a big, swaggering man in a rumpled white suit, obviously half drunk.
“You’re new manager?” he had begun.
“I’m busy,” Napier had said.