“He gave me some more circulars,” Don admitted.
“Then you’d better believe he knew you didn’t get to bed last night until 4 a.m. And you’d better believe he has tucked that away in his mind somewhere.”
Don appeared worried.
“He didn’t say anything.”
“No, he didn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything until he has a whole collection of those little things. Even then he doesn’t say much; but what he does say––counts.”
“You don’t think he’s getting ready to fire me?” he asked anxiously.
“He’s always getting ready,” she answered. “He’s always getting ready to fire or advance you. That’s the point,” she went on more earnestly. “What I don’t understand is why the men who come in here aren’t getting ready too. I don’t see why they don’t play the game. I might stay with the firm twenty years and I’d still be pounding a typewriter. But you––”
She raised her eyes to his. She saw that Don’s had grown less dull, and her own warmed with this initial success.
“You used to play football, didn’t you?” she asked.