The partners glanced at each other again.
"We never read books," said Mr. Cutt.
"Never," said Mr. Slashem, kindly. "We have things much more important to attend to. We pay Mr. Gouger a large salary. Why, my young friend, there are probably a dozen manuscripts received at our office every week. If we were to try to read them, who do you think would attend to the essential points of our business?"
Roseleaf's contempt for the concern was increasing at lightning speed. He did not care to mince his words, for it could make no difference now.
"I should imagine that the selection of the books you are to print would be at least as important as the paper you are to use," he retorted.
Mr. Cutt looked at him in great astonishment.
"You are much mistaken," said he.
"Entirely mistaken," confirmed Mr. Slashem.
The author had no desire to remain longer, as it was evident he was losing his temper to no purpose. If it was Mr. Gouger who had rejected his work, it was Mr. Gouger that he must see.
Bowing with ironical grace to the examiners of printing paper, he took leave of them, and mounted to the sanctum of the man who he had been told was the arbiter of his fate. A girl with soiled hands pointed out the room, for there was nothing to indicate it upon the dingy panel of the door; and presently Roseleaf stood in the presence of the individual he believed at that moment his worst enemy.