“We imagined from Mr. Saunderson’s letter you would arrive by the 12.30 from town. I had ventured to order lunch for you here on that understanding,” the head clerk explained deferentially. “What will you like to do first, sir?”
“I wish to go into the inner office and for you to carry on the usual routine precisely as in my father’s time.”
There was no hesitation over the term now.
“Bring me such letters and reports as you would bring him. I must find out for myself how much or how little of it I am capable of understanding.”
“It will be a question of practice rather than of understanding with you, sir, I am confident,” returned Mr. Clisson politely, turning over in his mind what business it would be least embarrassing to submit to this decided young man.
“It will be your business to see I get the practice,” Christopher answered.
Together they unlocked the door of Peter Masters’ sanctum and the head clerk flung it open.
“It is precisely as he left it that day. Nothing has been done excepting the sorting of the papers, which Mr. Saunderson and myself did between us. The last time Mr. Saunderson was here we had it cleaned out. You will find the bells and telephones all labelled. If you will wait a few minutes I will send a man in with ink and writing material, and the keys, and I will bring you this morning’s letters myself.”
Christopher thanked him mechanically and entered the room. He stood in the window silently waiting, while a young clerk trembling with excitement performed 375 the small services necessary, and asked nervously if he could do more.
“Nothing else now. What is your name?”