"Are you ambitious?" says he.
"Sure!" says I. "I'm waitin' for some bank president to adopt me."
"You came in here expecting to be discharged, I presume?" says he.
"What, me?" says I. "Nah! I thought you was goin' to ask me over to the Caffy Martang for lunch."
For a minute or so after that he looks me straight in the eye, and I gives him the same. And say, for the kind, he ain't so worse. Course, I wouldn't swap him for Mr. Belmont Pepper, who's the only boss I ever had that I calls the real thing; but Mr. Robert would get a ratin' anywhere.
"Torchy," says he after a bit, "I'm inclined to think that you'll do. Have a chair."
"Don't I get the blue ticket, then?" says I.
"No," says he, "not until you do something worse than obey orders. Besides you're the cheekiest youth that has ever graced the offices of the Corrugated Trust, and once in awhile we have use for just such a quality. For instance, I am tempted to send you on a very important errand of my own. Wait a moment while I think it over."
"Time out!" says I.
Well say, I didn't know what was comin', he took so long makin' up his mind. But Mr. Robert ain't one of the kind to go off half cocked. He's got somethin' on his shoulders besides tailor's paddin', and when he sets the wheels to movin' you can gamble that he's gettin' somewhere. After awhile he slaps his knee and says: