He opened the door and stepped into a large room where two or three girls and a couple of young men were busy at typewriters, file cases and telephones.
“The boss in?” asked the visitor of a young man who greeted him.
“Do you mean the manager, Mr. Atkinson?”
“Like as not! The man who sells airships.”
“Have you a card?”
“Some’eres, I guess. But just tell him there’s man out here wants to talk flyin’-machine if he’s got time.”
“Won’t you sit down?” persisted the clerk. “I’ll see if he’s busy.”
“Just tell him I’m kind o’ busy, too.”
While the clerk disappeared within a room opening out of the main office, the active westerner made a hasty examination of the place. On a table within the railed-off space in which he stood was a tray of business cards. He picked one up and read it: