“Swell pictures,” said Wells heartily. “Wish I’d taken them myself.”
Fred Orris’ only comment was a curt suggestion as to the number of printing paper which should be used.
“Jealous,” thought Flash. “At least he might have loosened up enough to give me a compliment.” Aloud he said, “Oh, by the way, I wonder if I could have a key to the department? I was locked out today and had trouble getting Old Herm to let me inside.”
“I’ll see you have one by tomorrow,” Orris promised.
After the older man had moved to another part of the room, Joe Wells praised Flash again for his fine work, and demanded all the details of his thrilling experience at the fire.
“Too bad you didn’t get a shot of yourself hanging to the old man’s wrists!” he chuckled. “What a picture that would have made!”
“I wasn’t worrying about pictures at that moment. I was trying to save my neck! Orris doesn’t seem to think much of my work.”
Wells shrugged as he turned to leave. “Oh, you can’t tell what that bird thinks by how he acts. Keep on the way you’ve started and you ought to get a raise. See you tomorrow.”
Flash took another look at his negatives and then while they were soaking, went to wash some of the soot and grime from his face. Fairly presentable again, he returned to the photographic department. Orris, who seemed to be writing a letter at his desk did not glance up.
Entering the darkroom, Flash removed the films from the tray. In the act of carrying them to the drying drum he suddenly paused and stared. For an instant he thought he had taken the wrong negatives from the tank, that his pictures had been mixed with those Orris had been making.