“What? Well, I don’t know about that. He’s sort of funny. He doesn’t want to get anywhere but he doesn’t want to get in bad. I don’t know; he’s awful funny.”
“I’ve seen those guys before,” said Dick. “I know that type. They come in a place and get in good with the top people. Then they get your job. That’s just what he’s up to.”
Caroline smiled and said nothing. She was pretty and popular and she couldn’t always, therefore, say what she thought. She knew, though, that Dick Kuppelton, who had been with Heywood and Golden for six years, disliked Holton. Mr Murphy had never liked Kuppelton and at the end of the year changes were always made and Robert Holton might take Dick’s place. Things were very complicated, thought Caroline.
“I don’t think he’s that smart,” said Caroline.
“I think you’re wrong.” Dick started to straddle the railing, then he changed his mind and leaned against it. He was a large man. He was thirty and pink and blond. He wore large rimless glasses which made his face look clean and blank. He enjoyed what he was doing, thought Caroline. Everyone enjoyed working except herself.
“I’ve got to do some typing,” said Caroline. She wanted him to go away.
“Certainly; I suppose I’d better be getting back.” He stood up straight and stretched. “Well, back to work,” he said.
“See you,” said Caroline. Dick was so dependable: you always knew what to expect.
Caroline coughed. Her cough had a consumptive sound to it which rather appealed to her. When she was a young girl she had seen a play about a beautiful woman with white flowers and a cough. The beautiful woman had been so interesting that Caroline had never forgotten her although she had forgotten the play. Caroline coughed again, quietly, dramatically.
“How’s that report coming?” Oliver L. Murphy had returned from the front office.