“Yes’m, but he said he was coming just the same.”
She made no answer, and the boy, his eyes shining with admiration for the importunate visitor, rattled on.
“I know’m. He’s a awful big guy. If he started roughhousing he could clean the whole office out. He’s young Glendon, who won the fight last night.”
“Very well, then. Bring him in. We don’t want the office cleaned out, you know.”
No greetings were exchanged when Glendon entered. She was as cold and inhospitable as a gray day, and neither invited him to a chair nor recognized him with her eyes, sitting half turned away from him at her desk and waiting for him to state his business. He gave no sign of how this cavalier treatment affected him, but plunged directly into his subject.
“I want to talk to you,” he said shortly. “That fight. It did end in that round.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I knew it would.”
“You didn’t,” he retorted. “You didn’t. I didn’t.”
She turned and looked at him with quiet affectation of boredom.