"I expect he does," I admits.
"Do you?" demands Old Hickory, whirlin' on me sudden.
"I used to," says I, "until I got to know you better."
"Oh!" says he. "Well, I suppose the young man has a right to his own opinion. And my estimate of him makes us even. But perhaps you don't know with what utter contempt I regard such a worthless——"
"I got a general idea," says I. "And maybe that's because you don't know him very well."
For a second the old boy stares at me like he was goin' to blow a gasket. But he don't. "I will admit," says he, "that I may have failed to cultivate a close acquaintance with all the harum-scarum cut-ups in my employ. One doesn't always find the time. May I ask what course you would recommend?"
"Sure!" says I. "If it was me I wouldn't give him the chuck without a hearin'."
That sets him chewin' his cigar. "Very well," says he. "Bring him in."
I hadn't figured on gettin' so close to the affair as this, but as I had I couldn't do anything else but see it through. I finds Brink drummin' a jazz tune on his desk with his fingers and otherwise makin' the best of it.
"Well," says he, as I taps him on the shoulder, "is it all over?"