“Go on!” said he. “Tell me I’m a brute! Of course, I know that what I’m really paid a good salary for is to run a charitable institution here. I know—”
“Look here. Graves!” said I. “I’ll try your Miss Clare in my department—”
“She’s not my Miss Clare,” he returned, with vigor. “She’s—” He got up. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “She’s an albatross! You know the story about the fellow who had one tied round his neck, and couldn’t get rid of it.”
“That’s not very chivalrous,” said I.
“Well, I’m not paid to be chivalrous,” he said. “I know she’s a fine girl—a—a lovely girl; but she’s out of place here. She can’t do one darned thing well enough to deserve a salary for it. If old Reddiman wants me to start a training school, very well, I’ll do it; but if he wants me to keep up the standard of efficiency I’ve set, then he’s got to give me a free hand—that’s all!”
“She can start in with me to-morrow,” I said rather stiffly.
VI
I had my own ideas about office management. No private room for me! I sat out with all the others, in a little railed off pen. I contended that the moral effect of my being always visible, and always busy, was admirable. Graves, on the contrary, upheld the principle of remaining invisible and popping out suddenly.
I said that my department was a little democracy.
“And you were elected the head of it by popular vote, weren’t you?” inquired Graves, with irony. “Bet you wouldn’t be willing to put it to the vote now. All bunk! Humbug! You’re an autocrat, and so am I!”