“Did you? When?”
“At two-forty-seven, thirty,” replied the visitor with railroad accuracy.
The look above the lowered glasses became slightly quizzical. “You’re exact, at least. Patient, too. Good qualities for a newspaper man. That’s what you are?”
“What I’m going to be,” amended Banneker.
“There is no opening here at present.”
“That’s formula, isn’t it?” asked the young man, smiling.
The other stared. “It is. But how do you know?”
“It’s the tone, I suppose. I’ve had to use it a good deal myself, in railroading.”
“Observant, as well as exact and patient. Come in. I’m sorry I misplaced your card. The name is—?”
“Banneker, E. Banneker.”