“But—but I’d rather see Mr. Cummings himself, sir!”
“I dare say. But Mr. Cummings is busy. He can’t see everyone, you know, kid.”
“But I came all the way from Audelsville, sir!” pleaded Willard. “I—I might just as well have mailed this if—if I can’t see him.”
“Just as well,” replied the other, yawning frankly and glancing at the electric clock on the wall. “Well?”
“Don’t you think he’d see me for just a minute? Would you mind asking him, please?”
“Yes, I’d mind very much,” was the impatient reply. “If you want to leave this application put your name on it. If you don’t, move along. We’re busy here, my young friend.”
“But——” Willard sighed disappointedly—“if I could just wait here until he was at leisure——”
The door behind him opened and closed briskly, and a familiar voice asked: “Cummings in, Jones?”
“Yes, Mr. Latham. Step right in, sir.” The man, now smiling and eager to please, hurried toward the end of the counter, lifted a hinged section of it and stood aside while the newcomer hurried through and tapped at a door which Willard had not noticed. In an instant the door had opened and closed and Mr. Latham had disappeared into the inner office. The clerk, for Willard decided that he was no more than that, sauntered back.
“That was Mr. Latham, wasn’t it?” asked Willard.