"Y-y-you told me to-to go-go to him. H-e-e ain't got any place." The Directors smiled. One of them leaned back in his chair, took out a cigar and prepared to cut the end.
"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!"