The business had so increased that Mr. Mortimer R. Guilfogle, the manager, had told Rabin, the head traveling-salesman, that he was going to appoint an assistant manager. Should he, Mr. Wrenn queried, try to get the position? The other candidates, Rabin and Henson and Glover, were all good friends of his, and, furthermore, could he “run a bunch of guys if he was over them?”
“Why, of course you can, Billy. I remember when you came here you were sort of shy. But now you’re ’most the star boarder! And won’t those others be trying to get the job away from you? Of course!”
“Yes, that’s so.”
“Why, Billy, some day you might be manager!”
“Say, that would be great, wouldn’t it! But hones’, Nell, do you think I might have a chance to land the assistant’s job?”
“I certainly do.”
“Oh, Nelly—gee! you make me—oh, learn to bank on myself—”
He kissed her for the second time in his life.
“Mr. Guilfogle,” stated Mr. Wrenn, next day, “I want to talk to you about that assistant managership.”
The manager, in his new office and his new flowered waistcoat, had acted interested when Our steady and reliable Mr. Wrenn came in. But now he tried to appear dignified and impatient.