Larry grinned because he couldn’t help it, though it was a sort of lesé majesté to grin in the presence of the general manager.
“I—I guess it was because I was afraid of the crowd,” he confessed.
“Modest?—or just bashful?”
“J-just scared, I guess.”
The barest shadow of a smile flickered for an instant in the general manager’s shrewd gray eyes.
“I don’t know as I blame you so much for that,” he commented. Then: “Dick tells me that you are wiping engines in the round-house. Did you pick out that job for yourself?”
“N-not exactly,” Larry managed to stammer. “I was through school and had to go to work at something. I guess I just took the first thing I could find.”
“Well, do you like it? Is it what you want to do?”
Larry somehow found his courage returning.
“No, sir; it isn’t,” he said baldly.