Our dapper friend from behind the desk was on his feet in a moment, stepping towards me with outstretched hand. “Mr. Orrington, I’m proud to see you here.” I looked at him in complete surprise, while Tom looked on in equal amaze. The stenographer sitting behind her keys raised one hand to pat her hair, and stared in undisguised and interested wonder.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” I remarked.
“That’s not surprising,” answered the young man with a smile. “You never saw me before, but look here.”
I followed blindly around his desk, and waited while he pulled open a drawer at the side. “Exhibit Number one,” he remarked as he took out an American illustrated weekly bearing an imprint of my features. It had appeared just after my second signed story came out.
“Oh,” I remarked briefly and lucidly.
“Exhibit Number two,” our friend went on, bringing to my astonished gaze a file of my own paper, whereupon my own stories showed their large familiar headlines at the top.
“That’s what it is to be famous,” said a laughing voice over my shoulder. “Now, I could travel the world over and never find anybody to recognize me.”
“Then it’s up to me to bring you into the limelight,” I said, recovering. “This is Prof. Haldane, Mr.—?”
“Thompson, at your service,” supplied the manager. “From New York, sent over here to take charge of this end two years ago, likewise a sincere admirer of your work. Now, what can I do for you?”
I glanced at the stenographer meaningly.