“Let’s see; what you getting now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Well, that’s a good deal, you know. The overhead expenses have been increasing a lot faster than our profits, and we’ve—”
“Huh!”
“—got to see where new business is coming in to justify the liberal way we’ve treated you men before we can afford to do much salary-raising—though we’re just as glad to do it as you men to get it; but—”
“Huh!”
“—if we go to getting extravagant we’ll go bankrupt, and then we won’t any of us have jobs…. Still, I am willing to raise you to twenty-five, though—”
“Thirty-five!”
Mr. Wrenn stood straight. The manager tried to stare him down. Panic was attacking Mr. Wrenn, and he had to think of Nelly to keep up his defiance. At last Mr. Guilfogle glared, then roared: “Well, confound it, Wrenn, I’ll give you twenty-nine-fifty, and not a cent more for at least a year. That’s final. Understand?”
“All right,” chirped Mr. Wrenn.