He, of course, had none.
“’Fraid you won’t be able to see him to-day.” The telephone girl threw back her bobbed hair. “He goes out for golf at four.”
“Golf!” exclaimed Pant. “Tell him I must see him.”
“I’ll tell him. But I’m afraid it’s no use.”
Mopping the perspiration from his brow, the boy sat down. A half hour passed; three-quarters. A buzzer sounded on the telephone girl’s desk. She hurried back to a mahogany walled office at the back of the room. A moment later she reappeared, carried a sheaf of papers to a typist, then returned to her post. Not once did she glance at Pant.
“Forgotten me,” was his mental comment. “That’s the President’s office she went into. In the jungle we don’t wait for things. We go after them. I’m off!”
With a quick elastic step, he cleared the low gate, and before a score of pairs of startled eyes, marched straight for the mahogany walled office.
“What’s this?” a large, red cheeked man sprang to his feet as he entered. Two others at a table looked up enquiringly. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me. I came.”
“What for?” The man’s face showed nothing. Pant felt uncomfortable.