Mr. Wrenn seemed weary, and not so intimidated as usual.
“Look here, Wrenn; you were just about two hours late this morning. What do you think this office is? A club or a reading-room for hoboes? Ever occur to you we’d like to have you favor us with a call now and then so’s we can learn how you’re getting along at golf or whatever you’re doing these days?”
There was a sample baby-shoe office pin-cushion on the manager’s desk. Mr. Wrenn eyed this, and said nothing. The manager:
“Hear what I said? D’yuh think I’m talking to give my throat exercise?”
Mr. Wrenn was stubborn. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Couldn’t help—! And you call that an explanation! I know just exactly what you’re thinking, Wrenn; you’re thinking that because I’ve let you have a lot of chances to really work into the business lately you’re necessary to us, and not simply an expense—”
“Oh no, Mr. Guilfogle; honest, I didn’t think—”
“Well, hang it, man, you want to think. What do you suppose we pay you a salary for? And just let me tell you, Wrenn, right here and now, that if you can’t condescend to spare us some of your valuable time, now and then, we can good and plenty get along without you.”
An old tale, oft told and never believed; but it interested Mr. Wrenn just now.
“I’m real glad you can get along without me. I’ve just inherited a big wad of money! I think I’ll resign! Right now!”