Thus adjured, Larry took his courage in both hands and gripped it so hard that if it had had a voice it must have yelled aloud.
“I—I’d like to have a job this summer where I could earn enough money to count for something at home, and where I could have a chance to learn something and get ahead.”
Again the grave-eyed “big boss” was looking out of the darkened window.
“Tell me just what the job would be—if you could have your choice,” he said quietly.
For one flitting instant Larry thought of the engineering party that was going to the Tourmaline, and what a perfectly rip-roaring good time he could have with Dick if he should be along; but so he dismissed that picture before it should get too strong a hold.
“I guess I’m not picking and choosing much,” he made shift to say. “I’ll do anything you tell me to, Mr. Maxwell.”
“But that wouldn’t be paying the company’s debt. If you’ve got it in you to make good, you shall have the kind of job to give you the opportunity,” said the general manager, adding: “That is, of course, if your father approves.”
Larry leaned forward anxiously.
“Would it be—would it be to go on wiping engines?” he made bold to ask, rather breathlessly.