“What’s that you’ve got there?” his father asked, seating himself in a comfortable chair a little way from the desk.
In drawing some papers from the pocket of his overcoat, Shepherd dropped his hat, picked it up and laid it on the desk. He was trying to appear at ease, and replied that it was a contract calling for a large order which the storage battery company had just made.
“We worked a good while to get that,” said the young man with a ring of pride in his voice. “I thought you’d like to know it’s all settled.”
Mills put on his glasses, scanned the document with a practiced eye and handed it back.
“That’s good. You’re running full capacity now?”
“Yes; we’ve got orders enough to keep us going full handed for several months.”
The young man’s tone was eager; he was clearly anxious for his father’s approval. He had expected a little more praise for his success in getting the contract, but was trying to adjust himself to his father’s calm acceptance of the matter. He drummed the edge of the desk as he recited certain figures as to conditions at the plant. His father disconcertingly corrected one of his statements.
“Yes; you’re right, father,” Shepherd stammered. “I got the July figures mixed up with the June report.”
Mills smiled indulgently; took a cigarette from a silver box on the taboret beside him and unhurriedly lighted it.
“You and Constance are coming over for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I think Leila said she’d asked you.”