[They found Mr. Hanks at his desk.]
“Er—certainly! How do you do? Won’t you—won’t you be seated?” Mr. Hanks glanced around nervously in search of accommodations. Gil and Poke simplified matters by seating themselves on the edge of the bed, leaving the chairs for the others. Mr. Hanks laid aside the tortoise-shell spectacles he was wearing, pushed his manuscript aside, drew it back again, smiled doubtfully and subsided in his chair.
“You—er—you wanted to see me?” he asked, clearing his throat nervously.
“Yes, sir,” replied Jeffrey. “Hope has just told us, sir, that you are thinking of leaving Crofton.”
“Yes.” Mr. Hanks glanced down at his papers. “Yes, I have decided to resign,” he replied, in tones which he strove to make sound businesslike and matter-of-fact.
“We’re awfully sorry to hear it, Mr. Hanks,” said Jeffrey earnestly.
“Terribly sorry,” said Hope.