“I’m in no hurry,” Jimmy grinned cheerfully; his courage began coming back. This Mr. Leffingwell Hope, after all, didn’t seem so very formidable. “I’ll make an appointment, then.”
“If your business is important, I’ll hear it now.” The secretary turned slightly away, as though he were being unnecessarily detained from important work inside. “Tell it quick,” he added. “The young lady says you don’t represent any one. What is it?”
Jimmy’s anger flared up suddenly. He put out his hand and gripped Mr. Leffingwell Hope by the arm, turning him around until they were again face to face.
“Say, listen, you—you don’t understand.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice; and when the secretary shook off his hold he let go promptly. “I came all the way from Menchon, Pennsylvania, to see Mr. Wentworth. And I’ve waited over a week. It’s an important thing—it’s something he will be glad to hear.”
“All right, then—tell it to me. If it’s important, I’ll ask Mr. Wentworth if he’ll see you.”
“I won’t tell it to you,” Jimmy said doggedly. “I won’t tell it to you or to anybody but him.”
“Then I guess you won’t tell it,” said Mr. Hope, and turned back toward the railing.
This time Jimmy was really angry. He took a swift step forward and again seized the secretary by the arm. “Look here, you—you’re not giving me a square deal.”
“Take your hands off me,” said Mr. Hope evenly. Evidently he was not a coward, for there was no alarm in his eyes.
Jimmy released the secretary reluctantly. “You’re not giving me a square deal. You tell Mr. Wentworth I want to see him, and see what he says.”