“You think he don’t mean it, sir!” said John.
“I think he don’t mean it,” said the big man.
John’s clear eyes looked into the small, fat ones and the man stirred a little in his chair and sat up. “Do you believe it?” he asked.
“I know it,” said John. “He does n’t start out on things he can’t carry through.”
“That ’s right,” muttered the man. His face was thoughtful.
“He’s always run the road before for the corporation. He’s running it now for everybody.”
“Well, it ’s beyond me.—I don’t make money for everybody.” He seemed to be digesting it.
The young man had taken up some papers from the desk. “President Tetlow wanted me to ask you about these,” he said.
“What are they!” The man swung his eyeglasses to his nose and held out his hand. “They are affidavits.... about those harvesters....”
“Oh!” The manager sank back a little. He took off the glasses, tapping the table with them. “Well!”