“I suspect you refer to John Steele, one of my assistants, sir.”
“I don’t like him, Manson; he seems obtrusive.”
“I assure you, sir, he is a most capable man.”
“Yes, yes, I dare say; but, as I have often told you, the success of our organisation is in method, not in haste.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“That person always gives me the idea that something is wrong—that a fire has broken out, or a man has been run over. I don’t like it. His clothes are untidy and seem to have been made for some one else. I shouldn’t like Mr. Rockervelt to see that we have such an unkempt person on our clerical staff.”
“I’ll speak to him, sir; I admit his manner does not do him justice.”
When Manson next encountered John alone, he spoke with more than his usual severity.
“Steele, I wish you would pay some attention to your clothes. Get a new business suit and take care of it. Remember you are in the city of Warmington, and not at Hitchen’s Siding.”
“Yes, sir,” said John contritely, looking down with new dismay at his grease-stained trousers.