"What's up? You've got a nerve to ask that!" roared the manager, banging his fist on the top of his desk. "Here, look at these!"
He handed Jim a small sheaf of sheets consisting of letters and telegrams. The first was from a jobbing firm:
"Cancel order given your man Gollop. Sorry, but entire board of directors are Republican and resent Yimville affair."
A second was from another firm which had been one of Jim's best customers and read:
"Advise Gollop not to make this territory again until Yimville affair blows over. Granger's supporters buzzing like live hornets."
A more portentous looking document bearing the heading of the "State Republican Committee Headquarters" bore the concise statement that unless an immediate, full, and public apology was forthcoming from one James Gollop for impersonating the Hon. J. Woodworth-Granger at an important political meeting in the city of Yimville were not immediately forthcoming, legal action would be taken for damages, on the ground of misrepresentation, false pretense and willful intent to damage the reputation and political career of one of the most distinguished men in the state. Another letter was a round robin, signed by several firms, demanding the immediate discharge of "that contemptible practical joker, James Gollop," and still another was from no less person that the Judge of the Fourth District Court, in which what was said of the same James Gollop was enough to wither that unfortunate individual. Someone had sent a stack of newspaper clippings three inches in thickness, from which Jimmy gathered that it had taken but a day or two to pick up his trail and expose him beyond all possible dispute.
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, aghast, and wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. "I didn't have any idea of kicking up such a fuss as that. I just blundered into a chance to have some fun with that pompous old rooster that hated me because we looked so much alike and——" In the midst of all his woes he could not suppress a laugh of amusement.
"So you still think it's a joke, do you?" snorted the irate manager, exasperated by this further evidence of irresponsibility. "Well, you'll not think so any longer. I'll attend to that. You turn your samples in and go to the cashier with your expense account. You're fired! Maybe you can understand that! Fired! F-I-R-E-D!"
"You needn't have troubled to spell it out," remonstrated Jimmy. "I get you. But—hang it all, man!—you might at least put me into some new territory. I didn't mean anything by it. I'll admit I was a chump; but I can sell stuff, and you know it."