“This is a personal letter, Mr. Bates, and should have been brought to me at once. Why was Mr.—ah—Mr. Cameron not brought in to me?”
Mr. Bates murmured something about not wishing to disturb the manager on trivial business.
“I am the judge of that, Mr. Bates. In future, when any man asks to see me, I desire him to be shown in at once.”
Mr. Bates began to apologise.
“That is all that is necessary, Mr. Bates,” said the manager, in a voice at once quiet and decisive.
“Come in, Mr. Cameron. I am very sorry this has happened!”
Cameron followed him into his office, noting, as he passed, the red patches of rage on Mr. Bates' pudgy face, and catching a look of fierce hate from his small piggy eyes. It flashed through his mind that in Mr. Bates, at any rate, he had found no friend.
The result of the interview with Mr. Fleming was an intimation to Mr. Bates that Mr. Cameron was to have a position in the office of the Metropolitan Transportation & Cartage Company, and to begin work the following morning.
“Very well, Sir,” replied Mr. Bates—he had apparently quite recovered his equanimity—“we shall find Mr. Cameron a desk.”
“We begin work at eight o'clock exactly,” he added, turning to Cameron with a pleasant smile.