"I'm sorry," I said; "I didn't think we could talk business until we had seen the factory, so I put all my data in my trunk."
"Well," he laughed, "I guess we'll gradually have to get you used to hustling. Here's a whole evening we might have used, and you've thrown it away. But I can give you some good advice about your new job, anyway."
"Please do," I remarked, anxious to atone for my error.
"Ted," he went on, "I'm a New Yorker, and I've made pretty good as an engineer. I've had to make my own way, and I don't know much about fancy living, but I know a hell of a lot about making and not making money."
"What do you mean by 'fancy living'?" I asked with genuine interest.
"Well, for one thing, going around in musical comedy clothes and drinking liquor when you ought to be on the job. Do you get me?"
It suddenly dawned on me, not all at once, but little by little, that he meant me! "Musical comedy clothes" rankled most, for I did not at first catch the full force of his suspicions.
"I got these clothes in Bond Street," I protested mildly.
"I don't know where you got them, but they look it," he said.
"Now, my boy, you're going to a town where people don't understand all this fancy foreign stuff. You've got to dress the part and get down to being a plain American where you started from. You've got to cut out the booze. I don't know about women, but your clothes give the wrong idea there too."