The captain seated himself on the leather-covered bench, and the clerk entered the inner office. He returned, a few moments later, to say:
“Mr. Sylvester is at the Central Club. He wished me to ask if you could conveniently join him there.”
Captain Elisha pondered. “Why, yes,” he replied, slowly, “I s’pose I could. I don’t know why I couldn’t. Where is this—er—club of his?”
“On Fifth Avenue, near Fifty-second Street. I’ll send one of our boys with you if you like.”
“No, no! I can pilot myself, I guess. I ain’t so old I can’t ask my way. Though—” with a reminiscent chuckle—“if the folks I ask are all sufferin’ from that ‘Ugh’ disease, I sha’n’t make much headway.”
“What disease?” asked the puzzled clerk.
“Oh, nothin’. I was just thinkin’ out loud, that’s all. Mr. Sylvester wants to see me right off, does he?”
“Yes, he said he would wait if I ’phoned him you were coming.”
“Um-hm. Well, you can tell him I’ve left the dock, bound in his direction. Say, that young chap that was here when I called the fust time—studyin’ to be a lawyer, is he?”
“Who? Tim? No, indeed. He’s only the office boy. Why did you ask?”