Loy Rook’s own suite was on the third floor. It was furnished in Chinese style. Thus Loy Rook stepped downstairs from a home that might have been in Peiping, and entered an office that was obviously in New York.
Loy Rook was in his office to-day — the day after gangdom had undergone its shake-up. He was going over certain important affairs, and he paused from consideration of a pile of papers to call his secretary.
“Can you come here a moment, Vincent?” he said.
Harry Vincent arose from a desk in the corner. He approached Loy Rook and helped him sort the papers. The old Chinaman looked on admiringly. This man was the first good secretary he had ever had.
The gods had been wise when they had prompted Ching Foo, Loy Rook’s very good friend, to recommend this secretary. Loy Rook was always ready to hire a new man. He wanted one who liked to work; whose salary demands were low; and who was willing to live on the second floor of this building.
Harry Vincent had answered all those demands.
“Wait a minute,” said Loy Rook, in his queerly enunciated English. “Do not go back to work just yet. Let us talk.”
Harry resumed his seat and looked at the old, bespectacled Mongolian.
“You like it here?” questioned Loy Rook.
“I find it very pleasant.”