“He’s worked in my section, in the office, just fine.”
“That’s good. I don’t know him myself but I have some plans for him. We’re going to the same party tonight.” Mr Heywood laughed gently again. “Perhaps we’ll get to know each other. It’s so hard ever getting to know employees in the office,” sighed Mr Heywood. “I rather wish there weren’t so many of them sometimes.”
“I know just how it is.”
“We going to call this meeting together?” It was Mr Golden’s high voice from the other end of the table.
“Certainly, Ben,” said Mr Heywood. “We’ll start right now.” He picked up a black ebony gavel and tapped lightly, apologetically with it. The men stopped talking. “Now, let’s see,” began Mr Heywood.
“The Steel account, that’s the big thing we’re going to talk about,” said Mr Golden.
“That’s right.” Mr Heywood sounded bored. “That’s right. Well, gentlemen, it seems that we have a problem.”
Mr Murphy relaxed in his chair. Mr Heywood’s voice, gentle and cultured, came to him soothingly. The Steel account was of no interest to Mr Murphy; in fact, these conferences were generally of no interest to him. He was just there to talk about Statistics.
He played with papers in front of him. The voice of Mr Heywood flowed about him. He was lost in a slow current of polite vowels. The pain in his stomach was, for the time, gone.
Mr Heywood spoke of the market, of stocks and shares, of the state of the Union. He spoke convincingly because his manner was convincing and, also, because his ideas and facts had been given him by many clever men.