Jenkins, the Business Manager, had suggested, rather diffidently, that a good way to begin to work would be to acquire familiarity with the files of the paper. So, after making a cursory examination of his more material surroundings, he attacked the huge volumes which he found on his table, containing, he was sure, copies of The Dispatch for at least a century back.
He pursued the task diligently enough, at first, but it was not long before his interest flagged. One issue seemed painfully like another. It was very quiet in the little room, and as he sat wearily fingering the dusty sheets he felt curiously isolated and futile. The conviction gradually settled upon him that business was hardly as entertaining as it had been described. By eleven o'clock his patience was exhausted. With a word or two, more vigorous than elegant, he swept the bulky tomes upon the floor, and went in search of Jenkins.
The Business Manager ran his hand through his hair helplessly when Roger stated his grievance.
"I've been awful busy, Mr. Wynrod," he said apologetically. "If you'll only be patient. Just a day or two—rushed to death just now, don't you know."
"In a day or two?" cried Roger. "Good Lord, man—two hours have been too much for me. Something's simply got to happen or I'll go nutty!"
Jenkins laughed, though not very mirthfully. Inwardly he was a seething cauldron of wrath at the fate which had afflicted him with so useless an appendage as Mr. Wynrod. He had been harassed enough by the change in ownership, without that.
But fate has a queer way of settling knotty problems very suddenly and very surprisingly. As Jenkins laughed and cursed behind the laugh, a boy put a card on his desk.
"Maybe Good ... he might have something ..." he said to Roger abstractedly, as he picked up the card. "Ask Mr. Good to step down here," he called after the retreating boy. "Awful rush these days," he murmured.
Suddenly his whole manner and expression changed completely. His resigned annoyance was transformed into patent excitement. He fingered the card nervously for a moment. Then he looked up at Roger, his brows knitted.
"Would you mind excusing me for just a moment, Mr. Wynrod? There's a gentleman here to see me ... very important...."