XVII
The manager of the C. B. and L. was being shown into the president’s office—not the little room on the upper floor, but the one with the bronze token on the door. The typewriters had been driven out for the day on some pretext of cleaning.
As the manager entered the office, he saw a young man seated at the desk, his round head and broad back absorbed in work. His impatient eye swept the room—no one else!
“I—ah—I wish to see President Tetlow,” he said sharply.
The young man at the desk rose and turned slowly, facing him. The manager was conscious of a pair of clear, straight eyes looking into his.
“I asked down below for Tetlow,” he said a little less brusquely.
“Is it Mr. Nixon?” said John.
“Manager of the C. B. and L.,” said the man.
The slow smile on John’s face made him welcome. “President Tetlow asked me to see you, sir—”