The manager smiled too—in spite of himself. “You don’t think you ’ve made a mistake in assuming that Tetlow expected you to see me?”
John’s eyes were quiet. “No, sir. He said I was to give you all the help I can. I know about the books—orders and correspondence and things like that,” he added after a minute, “I can perhaps tell you what you want to know.”
The manager was searching his memory.... What was it Harrington had reported—a new private secretary—he might make trouble? Ah, yes—“You have not been here long?” he said abruptly.
“Since June,” replied the young man.
“I’m afraid you won’t do,” said the manager, but with a little more respect in his voice. “The deals I want to talk over go back two or three years.”
“I was with President Tetlow then,” said John. “I came about four years ago. During the last year I ’ve been off for a while.—My mother was ill.”
“Mother was ill?” He whistled softly between his teeth. It might, after all, be good luck that Tetlow was away. This simple youth would reveal more in half an hour than Simeon would let out in a week.
He would win his confidence.
He settled back a little in the chair. “Tetlow a hard man to work for?” he asked casually.
John’s smile answered his, “I guess everybody thinks so,” he said.