“THE deal can be closed at your earliest convenience. Very truly yours.... That’s all, Miss Ticknor. Bring in the letter just as soon as you write it, please.”
As the stenographer closed the door behind her, Freeman Judd spun his pivoted desk chair in a half circle, and, with hands clasped across his stomach, gazed thoughtfully at the calendar on the wall. For a full minute he sat this way without moving; then, whirling back again, he pressed the button at the side of his desk.
A freckle-faced, red-headed office boy answered.
“George,” said Mr. Judd, “I guess he’s waited long enough. Tell him to come in now.”
The office boy grinned appreciatively. A moment later the door opened to admit a dapper young man, who looked something as Freeman Judd must have looked twenty-five years before.
The embarrassment as father and son faced each other ended when Judd, senior, said brusquely, “Sit down, Vern; sit down! Chairs don’t cost anything in this office. What’s the matter now? What are you here for?”
The boy looked him frankly in the eyes. “Thompson Brothers fired me this morning.”
If his father was irritated, his face did not betray the fact. “As a business man,” he grunted, “you don’t seem to be much of a success.”
The boy swallowed. It was like downing a bitter dose of medicine. “You see, father,” he blurted out, “I’ve come to believe you were right and I was wrong. I want to start in the business here just the way I did four years ago.”
“Ah, you do!” Freeman Judd surveyed his son a little grimly. “Suppose we review this thing, Vern. You’re a rich man’s son. When you went to college, I gave you a good big allowance. I wanted you to have all the advantages that I had missed. What did you do there? Did you stick to anything? Did you learn one thing—one single thing—thoroughly?”