"From twenty to twenty-five all the time, sometimes more," he said. "Some on the outside. It depends on the condition of business."
"And how much do you pay them, as a rule?"
"Well, that depends. I think I'll give you seventy-five dollars a week to begin with, if we come to an understanding. If you make good I'll make it a hundred dollars a week inside of three months. It all depends. The others we don't pay so much. The business manager can tell you."
Eugene noticed the evasion. His eyes narrowed. Still there was a good chance here. Seventy-five dollars was considerably better than fifty and it might lead to more. He would be his own boss—a man of some consequence. He could not help stiffening with pride a little as he looked at the room which Summerfield pointed out to him as his own if he came—a room where a large, highly polished oak desk was placed and where some of the Summerfield Advertising Company's art products were hung on the walls. There was a nice rug on the floor and some leather-backed chairs.
"Here's where you will be if you come here," said Summerfield.
Eugene gazed round. Certainly life was looking up. How was he to get this place? On what did it depend? His mind was running forward to various improvements in his affairs, a better apartment for Angela, better clothes for her, more entertainment for both of them, freedom from worry over the future; for a little bank account would soon result from a place like this.
"Do you do much business a year?" Eugene asked curiously.
"Oh, about two million dollars' worth."
"And you have to make drawings for every ad?"
"Exactly, not one but six or eight sometimes. It depends upon the ability of the art director. If he does his work right I save money."