"No! I quite agree with you!"
It was late in the afternoon, but I made no apology for my tardiness, as I hung my hat on its nail and started toward my desk.
"Oh, you feel like saying it yourself, eh?" he questioned.
"I do."
He turned then and looked at me squarely. It was very seldom that he did such a thing, and as some time had elapsed since his last look he was likely able to detect a subtle change in my face.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked gruffly. "If you had my job, now, there'd be something to worry over! What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
He turned away, precipitately.
"Gee! Let me get out of here! That's what women always say when they're getting ready to cry."
"But I'm not going to cry!" I assured him, as he dashed through the doorway and I turned with some relief to my desk, for talking was somewhat of an effort.