I decided to stick in my two cents. Bashful as Hank is, it would have taken him all day to explain. "Hank means, Mr. MacDonald, that he would like to offer his services in an executive capacity."
"Exec—!" This time MacDonald couldn't even finish the word. He pawed his graying thatch wildly. "Ye dinna say so? Ond would the title o' preseedent sotisfy him, ye think? Or mayhop he'd ruther be Chairmon o' the Board o' Deerectors? Who are you?"
"I'm Jim Blakeson. I was the publicity man for Midland University," I explained, "but now I'm at your disposal. Where Hank goes, I go. I don't believe you quite realize who Mr. Cleaver is, sir. He is 'Horsesense Hank'."
"And I'm 'Horsesense Hector'!" snorted old MacDonald witheringly. "So what?" It was obvious that he was no newspaper reader, or he would have known Hank's reputation.
"Mr. Cleaver," I told him severely, "is a teacher of General Sciences at our school. He is well versed in a score of subjects germane to your business. Mathematics, civil and chemical engineering ballistics—"
"Motheematics," bellowed MacDonald, "be domned! The NBS&G needs no figgerer! I've gawt one o' the cleverest ones in the coontry wairkin' f'r me. My future son-in-law, Jawnny Day! Jawnny!" He strode to a doorway, flung it open, bawled his command. In the doorway appeared a nice looking kid with fine lips and eyes. "Jawnny, this mon claims to be a—"
But young Day had stepped forward eagerly, extending a hand to Hank.
"Mr. Cleaver! This is an unexpected pleasure!"
MacDonald's jaw played tag with his weskit buttons.