The next morning, about ten o'clock, Hamilton presented himself at the general offices of the company on the outskirts of the town, about a mile from the college. He asked to see the business manager, and was granted an interview.
"Mr. Arverne," said the boy, "I called with regard to securing the figures for the census of nineteen hundred and ten."
"But you are not the special agent surely?" said the manager, looking at him sharply.
"No, sir," the boy answered, "Mr. Burns is the special agent, and I am one of his assistants."
"I should have thought Mr. Burns would have come himself," the man said; "you are young for this work, aren't you?"
Hamilton flushed at this reference to his boyish appearance, but he answered steadily: "Yes, sir, I believe I am younger than most of the assistant special agents, but I have had a good deal to do with figures."
"Burns is a good man," the manager continued. "If the government has men of that stamp all over the country, the statistics will be invaluable. You know Mr. Burns?" he added suddenly.
"Only just since this work began, Mr. Arverne," the boy replied.
"Queer chap. I don't believe he eats a bit of food or drinks a glass of water without mentally figuring the nutritious percentage in the food, and the effect of his drink upon the water supply of the world."
Hamilton laughed.