"I kept thinking," he stammered, "that each one—"
Castle turned away impatiently, refusing to hear the speaker out. He entered his cage and closed the door, leaving Evan to his nightmare. The manager strolled back through the office.
"Where's Perry?" he asked the new junior.
"Out with the drafts, sir," replied Evan, weakly.
The manager was worthy of description also. He was short, heavy of shoulders and slightly knock-kneed. He was perhaps forty years old, his hair was getting thin, and his dark eyes snapped behind a pair of glasses. Just now, instead of snapping, his eyes twinkled.
"What in thunder have you been trying to do?" he exclaimed.
As he leafed over the pages of the copying-book his mirth came nearer and nearer the surface, until at last he was laughing aloud and with much enjoyment.
"Cheer up," he said, seeing the expression of Evan's face, "we'll let them go this time without re-writing."
Then he showed the young clerk how to copy a letter without spoiling both the letter and the tissue-paper pages.
"Thank you, Mr. Robb," said Evan, earnestly.