Firrel was at the door, standing hesitantly as if unwilling to interrupt the conference going on, but fidgeting as if anxious to be on his way.
"Scram, Ellis," said Chisholm, seeing the gaunt old man. "Let me hear what this egg's wail is."
Hardy grinned his sour grin and stepped out, giving Mr. Firrel but the curtest nod in passing. Firrel came in, and not being invited to sit, stood awkwardly before the desk. Maizie felt sorry for the man. He was so earnest, so sincere, such a hard worker—yet he had been with them more than a month and the few commissions he had received could hardly have done more than pay his carfare. It was pathetic.
"Well?" asked Chisholm, hard and cross, as if annoyed at the intrusion.
"I'm quitting," said Firrel. "That's all."
"Suit yourself," said Chisholm, indifferently. "I never begged a man to work for me and I can't see myself starting now. Check out with Miss Delmar. Give her your kit and turn over the list of prospects you have been working on—not that I think they are any good. It's the rule, you know."
"You can go to hell," said Mr. Firrel, very quietly. Maizie noticed that his knuckles were white and his hands tense. "I called in to see Mr. Fentress this afternoon. He told me to. That was a week ago. He said that they had to await the authorization of their Board of Directors before signing an order. I found out what had happened."
"So what?" roared Chisholm savagely. "Do you think we could keep open if we ran on a sometime, if and when basis? Alibis are all you ever have ... at the end of the quarter ... when they take the inventory ... when Mr. Goofus gets back from the West Coast. We want business now. That's why I sent Hardy when they called up this morning and wanted to know why our man hadn't been around. He doesn't stall and make alibis for himself. He gets 'em on the dotted line. I couldn't let you muff a big order like this one."
Chisholm waved the order under his nose, then laid it face down so the amount on the check would not show.