"In one way I do," conceded Mickey. "It's like this: he knows books, and men, and how things should be; but I know how they are. See?"
"I certainly see," said the intent listener. "Mickey, when it comes to the place where you think you know better than your boss, while it's bad business for me to tell you, keep your eye open, and maybe you can save him. Books and theories are all right, but there are times when a man comes a cropper on them. You watch, and if you think he's riding for a fall, you come skinning and tell me, not over the 'phone, come and tell me. Here, take this, it will get you to me any time, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Understand?"
"You think Mr. Bruce is going to get into trouble?"
"His job is to get other people into trouble——"
"But he says he ain't got a thing to do with it," said Mickey. "He says they get themselves into trouble."
"That's so too," commented Mr. Chaffner. "Anyway, keep your mouth tight shut, and your eyes wide open, and if you think your boss is getting into deep water, you come and tell me. I want things to go right with you, because I'm depending on that poem for my front page, soon."
Mickey held out his hand.
"Sure!" he agreed. "I'm in an awful good place now to work up the poetry piece, being right out among the cows and clover. And about Mr. Bruce, gee! I wish he was plowing corn. I just hate his job he's doing now. Sure if I see rocks I'll make a run for you. Thanks Boss!"
Mickey had lost time, and he hurried, but things seemed to be happening, for as he left the elevator and sped down the hall, he ran into Mr. James Minturn. With a hasty glance he drew back, and darted for the office door. Mr. Minturn's face turned a dull red.
"One minute, young man!" he called.