Others were seated about the room. He nodded silently to these, and went over to one of the windows near the desk occupied by the man he had addressed as Sanford.
For a few moments he seemed engaged with something going on in the street below, then he moved a step nearer, and leaned over Sanford’s desk.
“Find a pretext for coming to my room presently,” he said in a low tone. Then he took a careless survey of the letters and papers upon the desk, glanced out of the window once more, and went back to his den.
One or two of the loungers made some slight comment upon this quiet entrance and exit of their Chief.
But Sanford wrote on diligently for many minutes, folding and unfolding his letters and deeply absorbed in his task. Then something seemed to disturb him. He uttered an impatient syllable midway between a word and a grunt; read and re-read the contents of a sheet spread out before him; referred once and again to his book; and then, seemingly, gave it up, for he laid down his pen—at a less serious interruption, he would have stuck it behind his ear. He slid reluctantly off his stool, glanced once more over the troublesome sheet, and then, folding it carefully, carried it with a rueful face to the inner office.
Once within this apartment, the look of rueful reluctance vanished. He slipped the troublesome document into his breast-pocket, and smiled as he seated himself in the chair indicated by his superior.
“Sanford,” began the latter, “I want to ask about your office regulations, rather your habits. Our boys do much of their letter writing there, eh?”
“They do some of it; yes sir.”
“There is always stationery at the desk for their use?”
“Certainly, sir.” Sanford’s none too expressive face began to lengthen a trifle.