"That's all bunk, and you know it," snapped the boss. "The organization as it stands hasn't a single stick of dead wood in it. You know very well that a railroad the size of the Short Line can't run without an individual head of the operating department."
Mr. Van Britt laughed a little at that.
"If you should get some one of these new efficiency experts out here he would probably tell you that you could cut your staff right in two in the middle."
I could see that the boss was getting mighty nearly impatient.
"You are merely turning handsprings around the edges of the thing you have come to say, Upton," he barked out. "Come to the point, can't you? What have you got up your sleeve?"
"Nothing that I could make you understand in a month of Sundays. I'm sore on my job and I want to quit."
"Nonsense! You don't mean that?"
"Yes, I do. I'm tired of wearing the brass collar of a soulless corporation. What's the use, anyway? I found a bunch of dividend checks from my bank at home in the mail to-day, and what good does the money do me? I can't spend it out here; can't even tip the servants at the hotel without everlastingly demoralizing them. I'm like the little boy who wanted to go out in the garden and eat worms."
The boss was frowning thoughtfully.
"You're not giving me a show, Upton," he protested. "Can't you blow the froth off and let me see what's in the bottom of the stein?"