"Young man," he said to Phil. "You are too devilish smart. Carlotta—is why I am here."
"So I imagined. Did she send you?"
"Great Scott, no! My life wouldn't be worth a brass nickel if she knew I was here."
"I am glad she didn't. I wouldn't like Carlotta to think I could be—bribed."
"She didn't. Carlotta has perfectly clear impressions as to where you stand. She gives you entire credit for being the blind, stubborn, pigheaded jack-ass that you are."
Phil grinned faintly at this accumulation of epithets, but his blue eyes had no mirth in them. The interview was beginning to be something of a strain. He wished it were over.
"That's good," he said. "Apparently we all know where we all stand. I have no illusions about Carlotta's view-point either. There is no reason I should have. I got it first hand."
"Don't be an idiot," ordered Mr. Cressy. "A woman can have as many view-points as there are days in the year, counting Sundays double. You have no more idea this minute where Carlotta stands than—than I have," he finished ignominiously, wiping his perspiring forehead with an imported linen handkerchief.
"Do you mind telling me just why you are here, if Carlotta didn't send you? I don't flatter myself you automatically selected me for your new post without some rather definite reason behind it."
"I came because I had a notion you were the best man for another job—a job that makes the whole brokerage business look like a game of jack-straws—the job of marrying my daughter Carlotta."