“I waited for you,” the latter explained, happily oblivious to the coolness of the reception. “Knew you wouldn’t be late, and I wanted a little talk with you.”
“Come on in,” Storm invited wearily, opening the door and switching on the lights. “I ran out of town for a breath of clean air.—The cigars are in the humidor; help yourself.”
George settled himself comfortably in a huge leather chair and smoked in silence for a space, while Storm moved restlessly about the room.
“I came,” remarked the visitor at length, “to ask you what you know about Millard’s nephew. He applied to us for a job, and the only thing open is a rather responsible position.”
“Don’t know anything about him,” snapped his host. “He held some sort of minor clerical position in Washington during the war. Weak chest and the only-son-of-his-mother stuff kept him from active service. He’s a likable enough chap, plays good golf——”
George shook his head.
“Hardly material to the point,” he observed. “I want to know whether he’s dependable or not; conscientious and steady, not given up to these quick-rich ideas that get so many young fellows. I tell you we can’t be too careful nowadays——”
Storm laughed shortly.
“My dear George, I wouldn’t give you an opinion on any man’s honesty. Given the incentive and the opportunity, how do we know where anyone gets off?”
“Oh, come, Norman!” George’s tone was scandalized. “That’s a pretty broad assertion. We’re not all potential criminals!”