“I don’t think it’s any use, Mr. Hastings,” he said, “keeping me on the Record.”
Hastings stared at him incredulously.
“I mean,” Felix went on hastily, “I’ve got in a rut. I go through my work mechanically. I don’t use my brains. I’m dull. And it’s getting worse. I simply can’t take any interest in my work.”
“You mean you want to be fired?” Hastings asked severely.
It was absurd. In fact, it was preposterous. This was not the way to do it at all. But it was too late now.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Well, then, you are.” Hastings looked coldly at the ungrateful and rather sheepish-looking youth standing before him. “Have you got another job?” he asked suspiciously.
“No—I’m going to Chicago to look for one.”
As soon as he said that, he wished he hadn’t. It committed him to going. He couldn’t back out now. He had to go.
“And I haven’t any money except my pay-check for this week.”