"Well, I can't help it. I haven't anything for you. I told you that yesterday. You must not come here bothering me; get out."
Jim stood perfectly still—perfectly motionless. He looked as if he had been there always—would be there always. The Director with the cigar, having cut it, took out a gold match-box, and opened it slowly, looking at Jim with an amused smile. The President frowned and opened his mouth to order him out. He changed his mind.
"What is your name?"
"J-J-James Upton."
"Where from?"
Jim told him.
"Whose son are you?"
"C-C-C-Captain J-J-James Upton's."
"What! You don't look much like him!"
Jim shuffled one foot. One corner of his mouth twitched up curiously. It might have been a smile. He looked straight at the blank wall before him.