"Oh, as to that," responded the other, laughing, "it's rather handsome to pay at all in times like these."
"That's true," assented Mr. Wattles. "Times are dull, and more than likely to get worse."
"Oh, do you think so, really?" the young man asked rather wistfully.
"Sure of it," answered the cashier, "and if you've any thought of asking for a raise of salary, I should advise you not to do so."
"I'm very much obliged for the advice," rejoined the other, "because I have been thinking——"
"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Wattles, interrupting. "I want to introduce you to our president, Mr. Clatfield."
The junior clerk took off his hat and put it on again the right way by mistake. In his confusion he had not observed that Hiram Clatfield looked frigidly above his head; he only heard the cashier's voice continuing like enchanted music:
"Mr. Clatfield has for some time been looking for a private secretary. The salary would be commensurate with the responsibility from the first, and should you prove the right man—but of course we would make no promises. Do you think you would be disposed to consider such an opening?"